


for a good time, call...

by EvanesDust



Series: AU: FIRST MEETINGS [12]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Derek Hale Takes Care of Stiles Stilinski, Drinking, Erica Reyes is a Little Shit, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fandom Trumps Hate 2020, Hunting and Providing, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Knotting, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Mates, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Meet-Ugly, Minor Stiles Stilinski/Original Male Character(s), Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Moving In Together, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Omegaverse, POV Stiles Stilinski, Past Stiles Stilinski/Original Character(s), Possessive Derek Hale, Protective Derek Hale, Sexual Tension, Stiles Stilinski in Heat, Wolf Derek Hale, Wrong number
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:42:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 46,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvanesDust/pseuds/EvanesDust
Summary: Stiles unlocks his phone to send out a quick text asking his father what he wants to eat, even though he’ll get salad regardless, and notices a strange number on his recent call log.His face scrunches in confusion before realization dawns on him.Oh shit.Events from the night before peek through the hazy fog of his mind. Stiles thought, or he was hoping, that the phone call was a dream. But there it is, staring at him in the face—a one minute and 57-second call to an unfamiliar number.Oh God.Did he seriously call someone—possibly an alpha werewolf!—forphone sex?...Or the one where Stiles drunk dials a very grumpy alpha werewolf and propositions him for phone sex. Hilarity, misunderstandings, and feelings ensue.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: AU: FIRST MEETINGS [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1184156
Comments: 614
Kudos: 1967
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020, Sterek Goodness, Teen wolf





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kalika_999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).



> thank you so much for bidding on me. thank you for this prompt that kind of grew into a beast of a fic, and thank you especially for your patience. i really hope you like it!
> 
> small note/disclaimer, this fic is complete, i've put myself on a posting schedule - one chapter per week. since it _is_ complete, i went ahead and listed all characters and tags for the entirety of the fic because i have shit for brains and would most definitely forget to update tags when i post the additional chapters.
> 
> i would also like to take a moment to thank jmeelee, novkat21, a multitude of people from sterek & co discord server, along with aleeliah and jaycevans from the eternal sterek discord for reading this over, and giving me your thoughts and opinions when my brain was fried.
> 
> most importantly, thank you to my dearest em for putting up with me and my midnight freakouts and flailings. you held my hand throughout this whole thing and, instead of letting it be a little 5k one-shot, you pushed and said “what if” and brainstormed, and then it became this beast. you are my rock, my most favorite person, and i simply ADORE you. (also for making me a kick-ass moodboard!!)
> 
> and as always, *what even is a 'comma'? as always… all mistakes are my own*  
> *also tags… tags are hard :/ so if anything is missing please lemme know*

moodboard made by my dearest em

* * *

Stiles stumbles into the bathroom, squinting against the glaring fluorescent lights that illuminate the small room—a stark contrast against the darkness of the bar. The speakers are blasting a vaguely familiar pop song from the 90’s—a welcome reprieve from the grating voices of inebriated patrons crooning to their favorite songs just outside.

_Yay for karaoke night!_

Stiles groans and makes a mental note to thank Lydia later since she’s the one who picked the place.

The walls mute the too-loud music, though there’s a dull _thud_ from the bass of whatever song is spilling through the speakers. It makes the little pool of water in the bottom of the sink ripple with each rhythmic _thump_.

Stiles massages his temples while examining his reflection in the mirror. Despite the scuffed and dirty glass, he can still see the exhaustion and irritability that plague his features. He left the table when the incessant ache behind his eyes wouldn’t stop throbbing when yet another patron awkwardly stood on the bar’s make-shift stage, passionately belting off-key renditions of their favorite songs like they were auditioning for American Idol.

 _“_ Sorry. You will _not_ be going to Hollywood,” he mutters in his best impersonation of Simon Cowell as he splashes cold water on his splotchy cheeks. His whole face is warm; though he doesn't feel near-drunk enough for how much alcohol he's consumed thanks to his friends, Lydia and Malia, shoving drink after drink into his hands. It should have been more than enough to ensure a good time. Unfortunately, Stiles is far too pissed. The alcohol has likely burned out of his system with his rage over being dumped.

Fucking _dumped_.

Not that Stiles is all that surprised about it. Connor always talked about going places—exploring and seeing more than what Beacon Hills has to offer—while Stiles remains adamant about putting down roots and staying near his father.

Malia’s painfully blunt words from earlier as she dragged him from his bedroom replay in his mind. “You must have known on some level that this wasn’t gonna last. He didn’t even like curly fries. Said they were bad for your arteries.”

Lydia agreed but took a more gentle approach. “You two always wanted different things. Besides, did you really want to spend your life with someone who hated so many of your favorite things?”

The thing is, Stiles was lonely when he met Connor. Going through high school and watching all of his friends pair off and fall in love, Stiles wanted someone to date, and Connor was cute and thought _Stiles_ was cute. And funny!

It was also nice to have the attention of an alpha, something he’d never experienced before.

For years, it was good. Sure, it turned out they didn’t have much in common beyond a love of Han Solo and baseball. And yeah, they disagreed on some pretty big issues. But Stiles was happy at the prospect of not having to play third-wheel while Scott and Allison made heart-eyes at each other, so he brushed it off. A boyfriend he tolerated was better than no boyfriend at all. Especially when it came to heats and not having to spend them alone anymore.

Did that mean Stiles didn’t want someone to love and cherish, or to be loved and cherished himself? No, of course not. Stiles wanted to find his person, but time kept passing and he fooled himself into thinking an agreeable companion was just as good. Too bad Connor didn’t feel the same and pulled out the ‘ _it’s not working out_ ’ card.

Stiles sighs heavily as he stares at his reflection. Water drips off of his face and he wonders what the hell he’s doing. He’s not having fun and his head is pounding with every beat of his heart.

“Fuck it,” Stiles says, pushing away from the sink after he turns off the tap. “I’m going home.”

Though, when he stands up and reaches for the roll of paper towels placed on top of the empty dispenser, his bladder screams.

 _Oh, what the hell_ , he thinks. He’s leaving anyway, so it doesn’t matter if he ‘breaks the seal’ and takes a piss.

Being considerate, Stiles lifts the seat because while he doesn’t _feel_ drunk, he does have to brace a hand on the wall to hold himself up so his aim probably isn’t going to be the greatest. It’s a little difficult to pop the button of his jeans, get his zipper down, and pull his dick through the slit of his boxers with one hand, but he manages.

Staring down into the toilet bowl, he has a moment of complete drunkenness and wiggles his hips in an attempt to spell his name. The stream of piss arcs and Stiles snorts at the sound it makes as it _plops_ into the water below. His mom, may she rest in peace, probably shouldn’t have made peeing a game when she was potty training him.

He does another little wiggle, adding in a jiggle— _but no more than three shakes or you’re jerkin’ it_ , his mind supplies—before tucking himself back into his pants, making sure to zip up and button before turning to leave. Yes, there have been a few embarrassing moments where he did not, so now he’s extra vigilant when he’s any level of inebriated.

His eyes glance over the wall behind the toilet as he flushes. He shakes his head at all the messages and crude drawings scribbled across it. None at all noteworthy until he sees a red heart drawn with what he can only assume is lipstick based on the raised texture. He presses a finger against the crumbling wax and rolls it between his fingers, smearing it.

There’s no name, just a number etched into the tile with a promise of a good time. There’s absolutely no reason Stiles should save it. None at all. Except that he just got dumped and a good time sounds, well, _good_. He pulls out his phone, saves the number in his contacts, and walks back to the sink to wash his hands.

Stiles is assaulted by yet _another_ cringe-worthy performance of _Don’t Stop Believing_ as he steps out of the bathroom. His face must convey just how much he doesn’t want to be there anymore because Lydia is already calling for the bartender to close out their tab.

He grabs the whiskey he’d been nursing and downs it in one gulp, choking on its warm burn when Malia suggests they head back to his place to crash. She slaps his back, barely looking concerned.

Stiles waves them off, shaking his head emphatically as he wipes the drool off his chin. It’s a nice gesture but the last thing he wants is to host an impromptu slumber party. The last time that happened, Lydia convinced him to wax. It was traumatizing and no one should ever experience stubble on their ass cheeks unless it’s accompanied by a tongue in their asshole.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Stiles sighs when he finally stumbles into his apartment. He barely felt the buzz earlier—that warm, cozy feeling where he practically vibrates out of his skin—but now that he’s calmed down, there’s no doubt that he’s drunk. And, as he’d found out after the first college party he’d attended, a drunk Stiles is a horny Stiles. A fact made evident by the slick currently leaking out of his hole.

All Stiles can think about is hands gripping his ass, or tweaking his nipples, and he needs to be naked yesterday. Holding onto the edge of his dresser with one hand, Stiles attempts to not fall over in the process of kicking off his shoes. Next are his clothes—t-shirt, pants, boxers, and socks—which are strewn carelessly across the room as he peels them off on his way to bed.

Stiles plugs his phone in and tosses it on the nightstand. His mind has provided him with a wonderful image of beard-burn between his thighs, and neither his dick nor his asshole remembers that they no longer have a boyfriend to call, so his fist and fingers will have to suffice. With the way his asshole slicks and clenches around nothing, it’s apparently okay with that.

Throwing his covers back, Stiles slides into bed, sighing at the cool sheets against his warm skin. He bites his bottom lip as he looks down his body, takes in the flush over his chest, and the way his nipples pebble in anticipation. His eyes are drawn to the way his dick bobs as his arousal grows. It doesn’t take much to get him hard, never has, and tonight is no exception.

His breath hitches; his legs spread automatically as he presses a finger against his slick-covered rim and pushes it inside. With his other hand, he brushes his thumb over his nipples—left then right—and sighs softly before running his hand down to his stomach, the dark bristles of hair prickling against his palm, until he’s fisting his dick.

Soon the room is filled with a wet, squelching sound as he strokes himself with one hand while pumping two fingers into his hole with the other. His back arches off the bed and he twists his wrist trying to find that spot, that little bundle of nerves that send jolts of electricity through his body, but he groans in frustration because the angle is wrong and his hand is starting to cramp.

His fingers slip out of his ass and he balls his hand in his sheets as he plants his feet and thrusts up into his fist because he can at least do this, he can jerk himself off. Except it’s not enough. He needs more. Something like words of encouragement and praise, a hot breath whispering dirty things into his ear, promises of— Wait.

It creeps forward from the back of his mind, tugging at his subconscious—the promise of a good time.

Stiles grabs his phone, yanking it off the charger, and scrolls through his contacts to find the unknown number. This is probably the stupidest thing he’s ever done and that’s saying a lot considering he once convinced his best friend, Scott, to search the woods for a dead body. Before he can second guess himself, the phone is ringing and his hand is slowly pumping his dick.

There’s a gruff ‘ _hello_ ’ and Stiles’s brain provides him with the perfect imagery of a guy with dark scruff and muscles. Muscles _everywhere_. Certainly enough to hold him up or pin him down. He moans and pumps faster because all he can think is _wall sex, wall sex, wall sex_. “Are you fucking kidding me? _Who the fuck is this?_ ”

The hostility of the words should kill his boner but Stiles won’t let it detract from his goal. “Whoever you want me to be,” he says, lowering his voice to a breathy whisper. “Now tell me, what are you wearing?”

“What the fuck? _Who is this?_ What do you want?”

...And there goes his boner. “I was promised a good time,” Stiles says with a pout because there’s only so much yelling he can take. Especially if it’s not the fun, sexy times yelling.

“Oh, I’ll give you a damn good time as soon as I find out who this is. Then I’m gonna go over there and rip your throat out. _With my teeth._ ”

“Mmm... So you're a 'wolf, then. Bet you're an alpha too, huh?” Stiles can’t help the desperate, lust-filled omegan whine that escapes his lips. His body craves an alpha’s touch—this one in particular, who’s rough, throaty growls send extra waves of hot slick gushing from his achingly empty hole. “Bet your big fat alpha knot would fill me up so g—”

There’s a steady beep as the call disconnects. Stiles lets the phone drop to the mattress as he thrusts into his fist because fear boners are a thing and the guy growled in a way that sent a shiver through him, making his dick jump back into action.

The mattress creaks as he writhes on the bed, hips jerking as he mindlessly fucks into his fist. It doesn’t take long before he groans and feels the warmth of his release on his stomach. He blows out a ragged breath and melts into his sheets, too content to move and clean up.

* * *

Stiles groans as he blinks awake, head pounding. The sheer curtains do nothing to block the sunlight that streams into the room, blinding him. It hurts his eyes and he curses, wondering why he hasn’t gotten black-out curtains yet. He hates himself, life, and every choice that has brought him to this moment. _What_ the fuck _happened last night?_

The room spins when Stiles sits up too quickly; though, if he’s being entirely honest, he’s gotten off easy in terms of hangovers. Sure, his head throbs and the dog barking outside is grating on his eardrums, but at least he isn’t nauseous. It’s probably because Scott wasn’t there—and isn’t it ironic that he got dumped on his best bro’s anniversary?—since they tend to try and outdrink each other.

Eventually, the spinning stops. Stiles slides to the edge of the bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes. There’s a clatter on the ground and he looks down where his phone sits on the floor. He must have knocked it off the bed as he moved. It’s a slow exhale as he leans over to pick it up. “ _Shit_ ,” he says when the screen brightens and shows a 30% charge. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to work today—he also wouldn’t have gone out last night if he did. Stiles has done some pretty stupid things in his life but he’s not a _total_ dumbass. Plus, his father would reprimand him for being so irresponsible.

Speaking of which, it’s almost noon. Stiles should take lunch down to the station since he hasn’t paid his dad a visit in awhile. He also misses chatting with Marge at the front desk—not only does she regale him with tales from the bullpen, but she always keeps him up to date on how often his dad sneaks burgers and curly fries.

Stiles unlocks his phone to send out a quick text asking his father what he wants to eat, even though he’ll get salad regardless, and notices a strange number on his recent call log.

His face scrunches in confusion before realization dawns on him.

_Oh shit._

Events from the night before peek through the hazy fog of his mind. Stiles thought, or he was hoping, that the phone call was a dream. But there it is, staring at him in the face—a one minute and 57-second call to an unfamiliar number.

_Oh God._

Did he seriously call someone—possibly an alpha werewolf!—for _phone sex?_ And talked about his knot! Stiles has never craved a knot before, never even thought of them since Connor didn’t have one—no human alpha does. Sure, Scott’s mentioned them, talk about a surprise the first time he popped one after being bitten! Google informed them that it’s a trait of alpha werewolves. He facepalms at the memory of begging for the stranger’s knot. Stiles has never done anything so impulsive, he absolutely does not count that impromptu road trip to Mexico during junior year of high school.

Stiles contemplates, albeit briefly, calling the number again and apologizing. Yes, this is a stranger who doesn’t know Stiles from any random person walking down the street, but just knowing someone out there—this person in particular, though he has no idea why—has a negative opinion of him, might think him some kind of pervert, leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

No. Actually, that’s all the alcohol he drank.

The bed creaks as Stiles gets up, his joints popping into place as he stretches his arms above his head. Dried bits of cum flake off his stomach when he scratches at the dark patch of hair below his navel and his thighs stick together from all the slick. “Gross.”

Before heading to the bathroom, Stiles grabs the charging cable from the floor and plugs his phone back in.

 _Later_ , he thinks. _I’ll call later._

* * *

Later comes and goes, and Stiles can’t stop fiddling with his phone. He manages to take a brief break from his pathetic new obsession with staring at his call log when he joins his dad for lunch. Unfortunately, new habits die hard, and, after about ten minutes of small talk, he’s back to staring holes into his phone.

At one point, when Stiles is otherwise occupied taking a particularly large bite of his sandwich, his dad plucks it from his fingers and checks the screen. In exchange for getting his phone back, Stiles has to swallow his pride and promise to let his dad get steak on his salad at their next lunch.

Even Scott notices something is wrong when they hang out—which is saying a lot, considering Scott's mind has been preoccupied with planning his proposal to Allison. Stiles, of course, lies and is eternally grateful when Scott doesn’t call him out on it—despite the fact that his werewolf ears no doubt heard the jump in Stiles’s heartbeat.

It’s not until the sun has set and the street lights come on, casting an eerie yellow glow on his neighborhood, that Stiles decides to bite the bullet and put himself out of his misery. As he jogs from his parking spot to his apartment, he thinks, ‘fuck it,’ and pulls out his phone. The lone unsaved number stands out against his contacts in his call log, making it easy to find. His thumb hovers over the call button as he inhales sharply and finally hits the phone icon before he can chicken out.

After six unanswered rings, Stiles contemplates hanging up and preserving his last remaining shred of dignity while he still can. Just as he’s about to pull the phone away to end the call, there's a click, followed by a threatening, “What.”

Stiles startles, opening and closing his mouth like a fish-he genuinely didn’t expect the victim of his drunken exploits to answer his call... _again_. “I...you didn’t block my number,” he says dumbly.

There’s a long, drawn-out sigh on the other end of the phone, reminiscent of his father when he’s tired of Stiles’s shit. “I don’t know how.” It’s muttered so quietly that Stiles is sure he wasn’t actually meant to hear.

“I can tell you,” Stiles says quickly. “I can tell you how to block numbers.”

“ _What?_ Why would you do that?”

“Well, I mean, it’s the least I could do after last night. Which, dude, I am _so_ sorry!” Stiles grunts as he falls back onto his bed. “I got dumped and my friends took me out drinking and I get so fucking stupid sometimes…”

“ _Don’t_ call me dude.” There’s rustling followed by an aggrieved sigh before the man speaks again. “How did you even get my number? Who are you?”

“Um, yeah...” Stiles’s face grows hot with embarrassment and he scratches his neck in an old, nervous habit. _“I, um, gotitoffabathroomwall?”_

“Did you say _‘off a bathroom wall?’_ ”

“Er, yes?” There’s a growl over the line that absolutely should not have slick soaking his boxers, but it does.

“ _Fucking Erica! I’m gonna kill her!_ ”

Propping himself up on his elbows, Stiles stares down his body, scowling when his dick jumps in his jeans. “Before you go all alpha and start planning out her murder, you should know that I’m the son of a sheriff. I’d be obligated to give my dad your number if any persons with that name suddenly turns out dead.”

There’s a loud snort followed by a cough. “I’ll keep that in mind, little omega.”

Stiles shivers involuntarily at the man’s words, a little too affected by the ease with which this stranger called him _little omega_.

 _God, I need to get laid._ Thankfully his brain-to-mouth filter kicks in so he doesn’t accidentally say it out loud—something that has been known to happen in the past—because wouldn’t _that_ be embarrassing?

Instead, he asks, “How’d you know that?” as he pulls himself up to a sitting position at his headboard. “That I’m an omega.”

“I heard you last night.” Which, _duh_ , shouldn’t surprise Stiles since he’d already surmised that the guy was an alpha werewolf. “Slick sounds different from lube,” the man admits, though it seems rather reluctant.

“ _Oh._ ”

Stiles blushes and groans internally before remembering that the guy can’t see him. When a few seconds of silence pass, he assumes maybe the mystery man hung up on him but as he pulls the phone away from his head to check, a throat clears across the line.

“I’m Stiles,” he says awkwardly.

“ _Stiles?_ ” It’s clear by the lilt of the man’s voice that he’s amused.

Stiles has heard the phrase ‘ _what the hell is a Stiles?_ ’ more than enough times to be annoyed so he preempts it by saying, “It’s a nickname. Trust me, buddy. You’d never be able to pronounce the real thing.”

“Okay. I’ll trust you. I’m Derek, by the way.”

Instead of hanging up, they both stay on the line. Stiles learns that Derek hates his friends, specifically this Erica person who is the likely culprit of his phone number ending up on a bathroom door. Apparently, she likes to do whatever she can to keep Derek on his toes. Stiles suggests that maybe Erica did it for his attention but Derek laughs it off, informing him that she’s his beta and happily married to her high school sweetheart—she just thoroughly enjoys making his life a living hell.

The mention of her being Derek’s beta confirms Stiles’s assumptions that Derek is both an alpha and werewolf. Curiosity gets the better of him and, for a moment, he fears it will get awkward to ask about werewolves; so he takes the time to explain that his best friend was bitten in high school. Derek sounds genuinely surprised when Stiles says that Scott doesn’t have a pack.

“That’s why you shouldn’t trust Google, Stiles. _You’re_ his pack,” Derek tells him.

Stiles has a few more questions that Derek takes in stride, readily answering them. The conversation flows freely and easily after that, like they’re old friends catching up. By the time the phone call ends, Stiles completely forgets that he meant to tell Derek how to block his number and falls asleep on the couch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYAYAYAYAY! i'm overwhelmed and so very grateful for all the positive responses to this story! THANK YOU! THANK YOU!! THANK YOU!!!

When Stiles wakes, there’s a crick in his neck. Probably not the best idea to sleep on the couch but he’s young, and he’s always slept in odd positions. There was one time when he woke up hanging off the side of his bed with his face and chest pressed to the floor.

As he sits up, careful not to move his neck too much, his phone clatters to the floor. He’s immediately flooded with thoughts of Derek, and he’s suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to speak to him again—to hear his voice. But that would be weird, right?

_Yes, Stiles, that would be weird._

Instead, he opts to get up, get on with his day, and hopefully distract himself from the near-stranger who's been occupying his thoughts for two days now.

It doesn't work.

Throughout the day, Stiles thinks of Derek. It’s surprising how at ease he felt talking to him, especially after making such a fool out of himself. God, he’s never going to live down the fact that he called him for phone sex.

By the time Stiles’s dinner is coming to an end and he’s packing away the remainder of his Chinese takeaway, he’s already scrapped more than a few plans to ‘casually’ reach out to Derek. He finally relents and gives in when his brain is like ‘ _hey, we can use Scott as an excuse_ ’ for getting in touch with the alpha werewolf. Yeah, definitely, since he’s asking about werewolf things.

His safest bet is to stick to texting. Right? This way, even if Derek still hasn’t—by some miracle—blocked his number, he won’t be bombarded with yet another unsolicited phone call from the pesky omega who’s inserted himself into his life after a drunken mishap.

It still takes 20 minutes for Stiles to work up the nerve to text.

_Hey Derek_

_It’s Stiles_

_Just wondering if I could ask you a couple more questions about werewolves?_

_I was gonna just google them but you said it was inaccurate_

Stiles launches his phone across the mattress to stop sending texts. Why didn’t he just send one big text? The whole reason he texted was to be _less_ annoying. Sending four consecutive texts is definitely counterintuitive.

So needless to say, it’s surprising when his phone _pings_ with a notification. And just like the night before, Derek answers each question without judgment.

Okay, well, that’s not entirely true. As the days pass, they switch back to phone calls because Derek isn’t fond of texting, and it becomes clear from the groans and heavy sighs coming across the line, that there’s at least a little judgment. But Derek doesn’t ever hang up or ignore his questions.

It’s only natural after so many conversations that they eventually switch topics.

Stiles is sprawled on his bed watching _Underworld_ when he has an epiphany and suddenly needs to call Derek. He doesn’t give Derek a chance at saying the obligatory greeting before he hastily asks, “So do you guys really howl at the moon? Like in the movies? Do you throw your head back and just... _awoo!_ ”

God, it’s probably offensive to fake howl at a werewolf, isn’t it?

“Maybe a little offensive,” Derek says, chuckling through the line. “I don’t mind if you do it, though.”

Ah, yes, because Stiles suffers from a lack of brain-to-mouth filter so of course, he’d asked that out loud.

“But to answer your question, yes. It’s one of the few things that Hollywood got right.”

“Scott doesn’t howl.”

“He was bitten, so he has different instincts. Plus you and his girlfriend are human whereas my packmates are werewolves. When we’re on a run, it’s easier to call for them like that.”

“That’s so cool.” The TV gets loud during a fight scene so Stiles shuts it off and crawls back on his bed to lie down properly. “So what’s your favorite movie?”

“I, um,” Derek clears his throat across the line. “Rom-coms?”

Stiles gestures for Derek to continue before remembering that he can’t see him through the phone. “...Can you be a little more specific?”

“Is it too late to change my answer to The Godfather? Or Goodfellas?”

Okay, clearly there’s a story here, one that Stiles can’t wait to hear. “Nope. You said romantic comedies. So what movie were you thinking of Derek?”

There’s an obvious grumble through the line before Derek sighs heavily. “...Tangled.”

“T—” Stiles pulls the phone away from his ear and shoves his face in his pillow to muffle his laugh.

When he finally calms down, he hears another heavy sigh come through the line, and he just _knows_ that Derek is pinching the bridge of his nose right now. “I’m a werewolf, Stiles. I can still hear you.”

Stiles laughs again. “Okay, I’m s— I’m sorry, Derek. But _Tangled?_ I was imagining something like 50 First Dates or, I don’t know, The Proposal.”

“Okay, first of all, Mandy Moore is a national treasure. You can’t tell me you didn’t cry the first time you watched A Walk To Remember. Besides,” Derek continues, ignoring Stiles’s new wave of laughter, “I grew up with two sisters. Disney marathons were practically a weekly tradition in my house.”

“Okay, okay,” Stiles relents as his laughs taper off. “That’s actually pretty adorable.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek grumbles, but Stiles can hear the fond inflection under all of Derek’s attempted intimidation.

“Sorry, Sourwolf. Silence is one of the _very few_ things I suck at,” Stiles jokes. “Especially when it comes to movies.”

“Okay, Mr. Film Critic. Since you have such high standards,” Derek says teasingly, “What’s _your_ favorite movie?”

 _Oh, boy_. Derek’s in for it now. Stiles spends the rest of the night talking about his undying love of Star Wars and all things George Lucas. What follows is a lengthy discussion about how much easier life would be if lightsabers were real, and a tirade of complaints against Scott’s disinterest in watching the movies, despite Stiles’s determination to change his mind.

Surprisingly, Derek doesn’t sound like he’s waiting for Stiles to stop babbling so he can make an excuse to hang up. In fact, he seems perfectly happy to debate which trilogy is really the best.

They agree to disagree.

Before the night ends, the conversation returns to childhood favorites and Stiles admits that he shares a similar passion and love for Disney movies and that he may or may not know all the words to the Mulan soundtrack.

Derek asks if he does all the voices, too.

He pleads the fifth.

* * *

About a week after they first talked, Stiles is pretty depressed. He all but collapses on his couch after work, completely exhausted by what is now deemed the day from hell. Okay, that’s a bit of an over-exaggeration, but still.

It started when he stopped by his favorite coffee shop that morning, waiting for his white chocolate snickerdoodle latte—Jackson liked to give him shit for it but it’s like a candy store in his mouth. There were two girls ahead of him in line and he froze when the name Claudia was called.

That was his mom’s name.

For the rest of the day, Stiles saw reminders of her everywhere, from the local florist displaying her favorite flowers to someone reading her favorite book. He could even swear he smelled her favorite perfume.

It made his heart ache and his mood sour with how much he missed her.

Needless to say, Stiles isn’t really in the mood to talk to anyone, but he finds it impossible to not answer when Derek’s name pops up on his phone screen.

Somehow, during their conversation, Derek picks up on his sadness and while he never pushes for Stiles to tell him what’s wrong, he lets Stiles know that he was there if he ever wants to talk about it.

Slowly, Stiles feels his walls crumble and he shocks himself when he starts explaining why he’s so despondent. Usually, anything regarding his mother is held close to his heart but Derek makes the dam break and Stiles finds himself opening up in a way that he hasn’t in a long time, at least not to anyone besides his dad or Scott.

From the gentle tone of Derek’s responses, his soft voice and soothing words, it seems like maybe Derek has personal experience with such grief. Sure enough, after Stiles finishes talking about his mom, Derek opens up about the loss of his family.

Not exactly the best kind of bonding material but it certainly changes their relationship and brings them closer.

* * *

_Derek: I’m going to kill Erica._

It’s a little disconcerting to Stiles that he already knows Derek well enough to recognize the empty threat. All their phone calls and text messages have built a friendship that Stiles truly cherishes, even though it’s only been a few weeks.

Somehow this stranger, this person who once threatened to rip his throat out, has become someone that Stiles genuinely cares for.

Late night conversations about surprisingly heavy topics will do that, he supposes.

“It’s that guy isn’t it?”

Stiles startles. His phone slips from his hands and onto the carpeted floor with a dull _thud_. For a moment, he completely forgot he had company; though Scott can hardly be considered a guest. They’re brothers in almost every sense of the word—friends since kindergarten when Jackson stole his crayons and Scott bounded over like the overgrown puppy he is and offered his own crayons to Stiles. They’ve been inseparable ever since.

Snatching his phone from the ground, Stiles glances up at Scott with a look of confusion, waiting for him to explain.

“You get this look on your face when it’s him,” Scott says as he heads towards the refrigerator.

Stiles rolls his eyes and ducks his head to hide the blush creeping up from his neck. He hates how easily Scott can read him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but yes. It’s Derek,” he says, fingers flying over the keyboard as he shoots off a response.

_So you need help hiding a body? Have we achieved that level of friendship?_

The phone rings almost immediately and Derek’s name flashes on the screen. Stiles can’t help but smile at the thought of Derek staring at the phone, anxiously waiting for his reply.

Pointedly ignoring the smirk on Scott’s face, Stiles nods over his shoulder towards the balcony, letting Scott know that he’s stepping outside to answer the call.

“I can’t claim plausible deniability if you tell me you killed her, Derek,” he says, letting the door _whoosh_ shut behind him.

The railing is hot under the sweltering sun but he leans against it anyway and looks into his apartment. Scott’s back on the couch, flipping through channels on the TV as he scratches at his cheek. He hasn’t shaven in a few days and the growth only seems to accentuate the crookedness of his jaw. But hey, Allison apparently loves it which means it’s staying no matter how much Stiles makes fun of him for it.

“She signed me up for an alpha auction.”

The irritation is evident in Derek’s voice, but Stiles can’t help the snort that escapes him. He quickly covers it with a cough, though. Sure, he’s gotten past that wall Derek has erected around himself, something he’s quite proud of, but he knows it's still a big deal for Derek to share this with him. “Er, what?”

“It’s not funny, Stiles,” Derek says with a growl, sending a shiver through Stiles’s traitorous body. A wave of guilt washes over him for getting turned on. “She keeps trying to set me up. First, it was a blind date with some omega that works in her office. It was terrible.”

Stiles opens his mouth to protest that it couldn’t possibly have been _that_ bad, but Derek barrels right over him. “Then it was speed dating.”

Now, Stiles grimaces. Not that he’s ever been speed dating, but even he knows that Derek Hale and speed dating should never be spoken in the same breath. Not only because Derek is shy and insecure, but because there’s no way that a five-minute speed round would give Derek enough time to drop his guard and show off his sarcastic wit or dry humor—which are by far Derek’s best personality traits in Stiles’s opinion. Also, because most people use speed dating for a quick hookup rather than a long-term relationship which is what Derek wants.

“Yeah,” Derek says instead of explaining. They have the type of friendship where Derek knows that no elaboration is necessary. Derek knows that Stiles understands. “You get it. So why the fuck did Erica think it was a good idea.”

“Derek. What have I said about questions?” Stiles gestures wildly as he speaks. “You need inflection at the end.”

“Shut up, Stiles.” Since it’s said with a huff of laughter instead of a grumble, Stiles imagines a fond smile on Derek’s face.

And, oh, what a ridiculously handsome face it is.

Stiles was lucky enough to receive a picture thanks to Erica. She had stolen Derek’s phone after seeing him smile at it one too many times and got curious about who was on the other end.

At first, when her voice rang through the line, Stiles felt a jolt of jealousy. Yes, after only a few weeks and not having met in person, he’d already developed a little bit of a crush. But as soon as Stiles figured out that it was the devious Erica speaking to him, he was pleading for a picture of Derek, claiming it was only fair because Derek had pictures of him.

Derek protested, citing he never asked for the selfies Stiles kept sending— _well, you certainly never complained, Derek!_ —but Erica quickly snapped a pic and sent it before Derek snatched his phone back.

The memory sends a rush of warmth through him. According to Erica, being awarded a Derek Hale smile is a rarity. And even though the picture Stiles received was all scowl, it didn’t detract from Derek’s devastatingly handsome features—sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline, and eyes that pierced into his very soul.

Stiles has taken to calling him hot and glarey behind his back.

“Stiles?”

Shaking his head, Stiles pulls himself back to the present once again and says the most obvious solution, “So tell her you’re dating someone.”

"Oh yeah? Who? She knows everyone I talk to so she’d know it’s a lie.”

Stiles’s mouth opens of its own volition, words freely spilling out. The context is wrong but all Stiles can see is Katniss Everdeen yelling the words, ‘ _I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!_ ’ as he says, “I’ll do it. I mean, yeah, just— Just tell her we’re together. Or at least talking.” Not exactly a lie since they do talk. Frequently.

The silence that follows is deafening.

“Uh, Derek? You still there?” “That—” There’s a loud cough over the line as Derek clears his throat. Stiles bites his thumbnail, worrying that he’s revealed his crush and made it awkward. He turns against the railing and picks at the bit of paint chipping off the metal bar, words at the ready to play it off as a joke but then Derek continues, “That might actually work. I can tell her it’s new and that’s why I hadn’t said anything.”

“See?” The word comes out high pitched and cracked like he’s going through puberty. It’s all nerves though. “Perfect.”

_Oh shit._

Did he seriously just offer himself up as a fake boyfriend to the guy he has a crush on?

“Thanks, Stiles.” Derek’s voice is surprisingly soft and Stiles’s heart flips in his chest.

“Yeah, no problem, Der-bear,” Stiles says jokingly, knowing Derek will hate the nickname.

And sure enough, there’s an exaggerated sigh followed by a grumbled, “No, Stiles. Just no,” which puts him at ease.

Stiles fake pouts even though Derek can’t see him and plays it up. “Aw, but babe.” “No.”

“Snookums?”

“Definitely not that.”

“Well, this relationship is just not getting off on the right foot. We might as well break up now since I really don’t see it going anywhere,” he quips.

Derek’s chuckle is music to his ears. A door slams in the background, followed by people calling Derek’s name and yelling about the arrival of pizza. “I gotta go.”

“Isaac, Erica, and Boyd?”

“Yeah. Promised them we’d hang out tonight.”

“Ooh. Puppy pile?” Stiles asks jokingly because he is an idiot. But they _are_ a werewolf pack.

“We’re not dogs. And actually, weren’t you hanging out with Scott?”

Is it weird that Stiles likes to fill Derek in on his plans?

“Yeah, he’s—” Stiles turns back to his apartment and looks through the glass of the sliding door. He jumps back at the sight of Scott pressing his face against it, exclaiming, “ _Jesus, fuck!_ Goddammit, Scott!” Derek says his name, voice laced with worry, “Stiles?”

“Sorry. Yeah, I’m good. Scott just scared the shit outta me.” Stiles presses his palm to his chest as his heart beats rapidly. Erica’s voice grows closer through the line so he hurries with his goodbye. “Anyways, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah, okay. Bye.”

The line disconnects just as Scott slides the door open and steps outside. “So, um, congratulations?”

“It’s not real,” Stiles says preemptively, knowing Scott could hear the conversation, or at least his part of it, through the door. “One of his betas is giving him a hard time about dating.”

“Oh yeah, no, I got that.” Scott stands next to him and kicks his foot. “You sure that’s a good idea? I mean, besides the fact that you just got out of a long-term relationship—” “It’s not real,” he repeats.

“You like him, Stiles. I know you do.”

“I don’t even really know him, Scotty. I’ve never even _met_ him.” “And that matters?” Scott shakes his head and clasps a hand on Stiles’s shoulder. “Listen. All I know is that I’ve seen you smile more in these past few weeks of you talking to Derek than the entire time you were with Connor. You should give it a shot.”

“It’s not even like that, Scott. We’re just friends.” And theirs is a friendship that Stiles would hate to lose.

Thankfully, Scott drops the subject and pushes Stiles back into the apartment. “All right. Come on, let’s go inside. I ordered Chinese and have the next Star Wars queued up.” Stiles laughs because it’s only taken their entire friendship to get Scott to watch the movies. “Dude, yes. You’re gonna love the Ewoks. They’re fucking adorable.”

* * *

After the movie ends, Scott calls it a night since he has an early shift at work the next morning. Scott reminds him about an upcoming dinner with him and Allison before exchanging goodbyes. Stiles reminds Scott to give Allison a kiss for him and kicks him out the front door with a laugh.

Once again alone in his apartment, Stiles looks around for what to do now. Sure, the sun has set but if he goes to bed now, he’ll be up far too early, which is a travesty on a day off. So instead, he does a little cleaning since he’s been slacking lately. Okay, that’s not entirely fair. In his defense, he’s picked up a lot of overtime at work and has been far too tired to clean.

Thankfully, there’s not much to do in his little studio apartment, so he rolls up the sleeves of his flannel and heads to the kitchen.

The refrigerator is first. There isn’t much in the way of leftovers, but he tosses out some spoiled takeout and empties the few Tupperware containers he brought home from when he last had dinner with his dad. Washing dishes has never been Stiles’s favorite, but he doesn’t have a dishwasher and even if he did, he wouldn’t use it.

 _It’s such a waste of water, Mieczysław_ , his mother would tell him. It certainly doesn’t help that it’s loud.

With the dishes drying on the rack, Stiles wipes down the counters and electric stovetop. The ramen he made the other night boiled over and left a brown ring around the burner. It’s a bitch to clean off but with some elbow grease, he manages.

The kitchen damn near sparkles and Stiles lets out a content sigh before emptying the garbage and recycling, and immediately taking them out to the dumpster.

Stiles is grateful he lives alone because _Cherry Pie_ gets stuck in his head as he vacuums. Moving around his bed and through the living area, he shakes his ass and puts on a one-man show, only stopping when he hits his shin on his side table, making the leg give out and collapse.

It’s not exactly the first time he’s done it, but the table belonged to his parents before his mom died; so when his dad bought a new one, Stiles insisted on keeping it. Sure, he has to remind himself almost daily not to put anything on it. And sure, he always seems to forget—as proven by all the splinters he's gotten from screwing the leg back in place—but his mom’s initials are carved into the wood, a constant reminder of how priceless it is.

With the vacuum put back in the coat closet next to his front door, the dancing continues as Stiles folds laundry. Being a proper adult, he makes sure to put everything in his dresser and closet instead of living out of the laundry baskets like he usually does.

Finally, after a shower, Stiles deems it late enough to crawl into bed. Part of him wants to close his eyes and pass out, while the other part kind of wants to rut against the mattress until he cums.

Except that’s definitely not going to happen because no matter what he does, no matter who else he tries to think of, all roads lead to Derek. Stiles feels a wave of guilt for thinking of Derek in that way because they’re friends, really fucking good friends now, and it would kill him to lose that.

With a heavy sigh, Stiles stares longingly at his dick before pulling on a pair of jogging pants. “Sorry, buddy, but it’s your own damn fault.”

And it’s a good thing that Stiles doesn’t try for some special alone time because as soon as his head hits the pillow, his phone rings.

Seeing Derek’s name, Stiles gets a wicked grin across his face as he answers the phone.

“Aww, honey bunny…” There’s a huff of breath across the line, a clear sign of amusement. “Did ya miss me?”

“You’re an idiot, Stiles,” Derek says rather fondly.

“Well, that’s no way to talk to your new boyfriend, Derek. I guess I’ll have to call Scott to defend my honor.” Stiles gets comfortable, turning on his side while he sets his phone down next to him, turning on the speakerphone. “Actually! I’d call Lydia. She’s scarier.”

There’s a moment of silence before Derek speaks again, though he sounds a little nervous. “Did you tell him? About this? About our... _arrangement?_ ” “Oh, um, I—”

“Because you can,” Derek says quickly. “I know he’s like your brother and that you tell each other everything, so you don’t have to keep this a secret for me.”

Stiles’s conscience eats at him since Scott _does_ know. Though, if Scott hadn't been there, he probably wouldn’t have said anything, but he might as well admit the truth. “I mean, he kind of overheard my end of the conversation anyway so I couldn’t really hide it from him.” “Oh. Yeah, that’s fine. Like I said, you don’t need to keep this a secret for me. But, uh, what did he, what did he say?”

Stiles replays the earlier conversation in his mind. There’s a moment where he contemplates doing what Scott suggested and telling Derek how he feels, but the loss would be too great if Derek didn’t feel the same. Even if Derek insisted they could still be friends, Stiles would be heartbroken and it’s not fair to put that on Derek.

Realizing that Derek is still waiting for an answer, Stiles lies. “Er, he, um, he didn’t really say anything. Asked me if I was sure. I said you’re my friend and I wanted to help you out. And I mean, I’d do the same for him if he needed it so he dropped it. Then we went inside and ate lo mein while watching Star Wars.” “Which one?” “Return of the Jedi.” Stiles relaxes at the change of topic and decides that now would be the appropriate time for an inappropriate joke—it’s the best way he knows to deflect. “Hey, Derek?” “Yeah, Stiles.” “Did you know that I have a lightsaber?”

There’s hesitation before Derek answers like he knows what’s coming. Which he should because they’ve long since reached friendship level 20. “...No?”

“Yup! My dick!” The noise that comes through the phone is a cross between a snort and a groan. Stiles pumps his fist in the air and feels safe switching topics again. His voice goes quiet as he says, “Hey, Derek?”

“Yeah, Stiles.”

"What'd Erica say? Did it work?"

“Yeah, kind of, for the most part. She begrudgingly agreed to remove my name from the auction.” There’s some rustling over the line like maybe Derek’s in bed too. “Which reminds me. She said she never wrote my number anywhere, let alone in a bathroom.”

“Wait? You told her?” Stiles scoffs in disbelief and then groans. The memory of calling Derek while drunk is one he would love to forget and he’s pretty sure they agreed to never speak of it. “I can’t believe you told her how we met.”

“What was I supposed to do? She insisted on knowing after I told her we were dating.”

“You could have lied!” The creeping warmth of embarrassment rises to Stiles’s cheeks.

“You know why I can’t.” Oh, yeah. Werewolves.

_Stupid supernatural ability to hear jumps in heartbeats. Grr!_

“You realize I’m never gonna be able to look her in the eyes.”

For some reason, Stiles winces, preparing himself for Derek to refute that they’ll ever meet but Derek surprises him. “You’ll be fine. I’ll make sure she doesn’t give you too much shit.”

Stiles would laugh at the comment but he’s too focused on the idea of meeting Derek in person. “So, uh, when are we meeting then?”

Derek makes a surprised sound at Stiles’s question, almost like he hadn’t realized what he implied. “We don’t have to. I get it if that’s weird.”

“No!” Stiles says quickly, though he doesn’t want to sound desperate so he continues, “No, it’s— I mean, it makes sense. Right? They’d get suspicious if they didn’t meet me at some point. Or if you don’t smell like me, or at least someone new, I guess.”

Derek sighs heavily. It’s followed by a grumble and he sounds completely reluctant when he says, “Yes.”

Stiles is sure it’s more about the pack harassing him and less about them actually meeting, so he snorts. “Don’t hurt yourself there, big guy. It’s gonna be okay.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so lol it seems like everyone really really really wants to know how derek's number ended up on a bathroom wall 😆 well, here ya go!
> 
> and seriously, you guys. my face every time i get kudos and comments -> 🥺  
> i love you all. thank you so much!

It absolutely is _not_ okay.

It’s been a little over a week since Stiles and Derek talked about meeting. Stiles was still picking up overtime and already had plans with other people, but as soon as he was free, they agreed to get together.

Stiles walks through the door of the bar, remembering the last time he was here. Thankfully, there’s no karaoke tonight. Looking around, his eyes immediately find Derek standing by the bar. He’s drawn to him, like a moth to a flame, but then he stills, completely taken aback. Stiles now knows what people mean when they say they've been struck weak in the knees.

_Dear world, stop fucking with me. Sincerely, a sexually frustrated omega._

There’s absolutely no way it’s possible but the picture Erica sent didn’t do Derek’s beauty justice. Seeing him in person, watching the lights cast shadows on his face as he casually nurses a beer, is breathtaking. And there’s something undeniably beautiful about the contrast of light eyes and dark hair.

And that’s just his face!

Derek’s body is— _Dear God!_ —unfair. The black jeans and grey henley do nothing to conceal his thick thighs and bulging biceps. Somehow, Stiles manages not to whimper because Derek is the epitome of alpha male.

At least he is to Stiles.

Stiles begs his body not to betray him—even though all he wants to do is throw himself down on the nearest pool table, push his pants down past his ass, and _present_.

_Get yourself under control!_

If he doesn’t, he’s bound to start leaking slick, and wouldn’t that be fucking embarrassing?

“Stiles?” Stiles startles at his name, flailing and hitting Derek’s chest in the process. “When’s your birthday?” he asks, breathing steadily to calm himself. The last thing he needs is his racing heart giving away how much he wants to climb Derek like a tree. At the look of confusion on Derek’s face, he elaborates, “I’m gonna buy you a fucking bell.”

The musical lilt of Derek’s laughter is soothing and Stiles follows him back to the bar, ordering a whiskey while Derek grabs another wolfsbane-laced beer. Derek lives up to the moniker of hot and glarey when Stiles objects to him paying for their drinks, so Stiles relents, holding his hands up in surrender. The bartender is quick, setting both drinks in front of them before turning to help another patron.

With drinks in hand, Stiles follows Derek to a nearby booth. He slides into the space across from Derek, making sure to cross his ankles so he doesn’t do anything stupid like run his foot up Derek’s leg.

“So, uh, what did you mean by kind of?” Stiles says, foregoing any official nice to meet yous, deeming it wholly unnecessary with their level of friendship.

Derek further proves this point when he knows exactly what Stiles is referring to and answers, “She was suspicious since I don’t smell like anyone new. I reminded her that we hadn’t met in person yet.”

Yeah, that was definitely something Stiles hadn’t thought of when his foot inserted itself into his mouth that day. Without looking up, Stiles starts folding the little napkin he got with his drink into squares. “So then what’d she say?”

“She’s just happy I’m finally letting someone in.” That gets his attention. “Her words, not mine,” Derek clarifies, rolling those gorgeous hazel eyes. But Stiles knows that Derek’s had some bad luck when it comes to relationships.

Okay, bad luck is probably a severe understatement. Another of their more vulnerable midnight conversations was about exes. While Stiles went on and on about Connor, Derek said all the right things but sounded rather dejected.

Eventually, with the right questions, Derek opened up about his past relationships—about how his first love died, his second murdered his family, and the most recent only wanted his alpha power. It’s really no wonder that Derek is closed off and insecure when love has continuously beat the shit out of him. No one should ever go through such tragedies, let alone someone as kind and generous as Derek.

“Glad to know she approves of me,” Stiles says with a snort. “Shut up, Stiles. You know she does. If you were anyone else, she would have insisted on coming and checking you out herself.” Stiles smiles softly and starts shredding the napkin, rolling the pieces into little balls and flicking them across the table at Derek who growls, though it sounds more playful than angry. “Yeah, actually, um, it was the same with Scott. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m supposed to check in with him every half hour but if he was really concerned, he’d be here too.”

“Every half hour?”

“Listen, it was either that or he’d have camped out here before you showed up.” Derek looks around like he’s trying to suss out if Scott is there anyways, which makes Stiles laugh. “He’s not, by the way.”

“I wouldn’t blame him if he did. Like I told you before, you’re his pack.”

This shifts their conversation to werewolves—not exactly a new occurrence. Throughout their friendship, Derek has answered just about every question Stiles could think of— _Does silver hurt you? Exactly how good_ is _your hearing?_ —but Stiles always manages to think of more.

Since he found out that Derek can do a full shift, he’s asked some pretty ridiculous questions.

Do you like rolling around in the grass? _No, Stiles. Don’t be ridiculous._

Have you ever sniffed someone’s butt? _Jesus, really?_ That’s _your question? I’m not dignifying it with an answer._

Do you pee on things to mark your territory? _...Yes._

There is one thing that Stiles has really been curious about. Stiles taps the side of his glass as he sets it on the table. It’s already his second drink, though he knows it’ll take a few more before he starts feeling that buzz. “So does it hurt?” Stiles asks quietly. “To transform into a wolf?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles considers Derek’s answer, lets it rattle around his brain as he thinks of a follow-up question. “So why do it then? Why do a full shift? Couldn’t you just stick with the beta shift?”

Derek huffs a laugh, taking a swig of his drink before answering. “I won’t be able to explain it properly, but in a way, it’s freeing? My senses are even more heightened in that shift. Everything’s more heightened, actually.”

“Pack bonds?” Because that’s something Google neglected to fill them in on. But it explains the connection he shares with Scott and, by extension, Allison. Stiles has always wondered why he’s sometimes in tune with her emotions. It makes sense now that he knows he and Allison are Scott’s pack.

Derek nods so Stiles asks another question, trying to understand the difference. “What, like you can sense them better? Can you tell where they are?”

“Yeah. For the most part. It’s not like GPS or anything but I can get a general direction and distance.”

“Wow,” Stiles says, blowing out a breath as he looks at Derek in awe. “That’s so cool.”

* * *

Stiles is having such a good time that he doesn’t pay attention to how much he’s drinking until he asks yet another ridiculous question— _Do you have to cut your claws like people cut their nails?—_ but Derek laughs and Stiles is mesmerized by the way his eyes crinkle in the corner as his whole face scrunches up with uncontainable joy. It’s almost comical that Derek, a natural-born predator, has bunny teeth; and, dammit, if that isn’t just the most adorable fucking thing in the world.

Something about it makes Stiles double over in a fit of laughter, but it’s okay because Derek is also laughing. When his stomach starts cramping and he can’t contain his snorts, Stiles realizes he’s a little more than tipsy.

_Oh, shit._

That’s definitely not good. He’ll have to reign himself in.

Instead of focusing on Derek, Stiles looks around the bar but nothing helps. Not even swirling his fingertips through the condensation on the tabletop.

The speakers are playing _Promiscuous_ and there’s a couple grinding against each other as they make out near the bar. Stiles’s cheeks burn at the intimate display. It’s been far too long since he’s been touched or even touched himself and his body is responding in a way that he absolutely does not want while he’s hanging out with Derek.

Stiles squirms in his seat and huffs a breath. He definitely needs to clean himself up before Derek smells his slick. Except, now that he’s thinking about the bathroom, another thought comes to mind.

Jumping up, Stiles grabs Derek’s hand, tugging him from the booth. “Come on.”

Derek could easily yank his hand from Stiles’s grip but he doesn’t, and Stiles pulls him down the hall. There are snickers around them and Stiles isn’t oblivious to what it looks like since he’s an omega dragging an alpha to the bathrooms.

The insinuation makes Stiles stop as soon as they’re in the small room. Derek clearly does not expect it and Stiles lets out a small “ _oof!_ ” when Derek collides with him. Somehow, he manages not to topple forward but he’s acutely aware of how close Derek is now. So close that Stiles feels Derek’s breath on the back of his neck, causing a shiver to run down his spine.

He closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath to steady himself, but that only serves to make things worse. Derek smells like sandalwood and amber; exactly what he’d expect from an alpha werewolf who spends most of his time in the woods. There’s even a hint of leather from the jacket Derek usually wears.

Without thought, he leans back into Derek’s warmth, letting out a gasp at the prick of claws on his hips as Derek grips his waist. His boxers dampen with more slick and Derek emits a low growl.

“ _Stiles…_ ” His name comes out shaky, like Derek’s barely in control.

_It doesn’t mean anything_ , Stiles tells himself. Just an alpha reacting to an omega and Stiles can blame it on being horny. Hell, he’s pretty sure he told Derek about that party during freshman year.

But right now, Stiles is both extremely turned on and highly embarrassed, so he clears his throat and reluctantly pulls away. Acting as nonchalant as possible, like it means absolutely nothing to have a boner right now, Stiles adjusts himself and steps towards the toilet on shaky legs. “There, um. Your number. On the wall.”

Derek blows out a long, deep, and slow breath, and Stiles counts the seconds until Derek moves.

_One_

_Two_

_Three_

_Four_

_Five_

But instead of moving towards him, Derek’s footsteps retreat towards the sink. Those claws that were just pressed into his hips, scrape over the porcelain, disturbing the quiet of the room. Stiles can picture Derek gripping the sides hard in an attempt to ground himself. It’s another five seconds before the faucet turns on with a _squeak_ and he hears water splashing, probably onto Derek’s face.

There’s a squeak and rustling from the paper towel dispenser, and soon the hair on the back of Stiles’s neck stands on end when Derek is close again. It takes all of his strength not to lean back into Derek. Especially when Derek’s voice is still deep and gruff.

“Where?”

Though the lipstick heart is missing, Stiles easily finds the etch marks of the familiar number he entered in his phone all those weeks ago. “Right there,” he says, pointing to it.

“Uh, Stiles?”

Stiles looks over his shoulder, brows creased in confusion at the look of amusement on Derek’s face. “What?”

“That’s not my number.”

“Wait, what? No,” he insists. “This is it right here, Derek.”

“I mean, it’s close. But that’s a two,” Derek says, pointing to the last digit. “My number ends with five.”

Stiles narrows his eyes and pulls his phone out of his pocket. Derek’s contact is right at the top of his call log, and sure enough, every digit is the same except the last one. “You mean to tell me. That I dialed you. _On accident?_ ”

It’s a sobering thought to know there’s a chance that Stiles could have missed out on meeting Derek, missed out on making such an incredible friend if he’d dialed the right number. Derek nods, smirk faltering as he likely senses Stiles’s distress over that realization, and the concern in his voice is evident. “Stiles? You okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says reassuringly. “I’m okay. I just— I’m glad I got the number wrong. I’m really glad I met _you_.”

This earns him a brilliant smile. One where Derek’s eyes shine, as his face goes from fiercely intimidating to unquantifiably beautiful with how it scrunches up, exposing his dimples. It’s so radiant and sincere that Stiles can’t stop the impulse to smile back as excitement courses through his veins.

This is the smile that Erica talked about, that rare Derek Hale smile; though, Stiles is hesitant to call something so dazzling a smile. Not when it’s like a gentle touch, a warm glow of happiness because Derek’s smile is a ray of sunshine.

Derek’s expression softens somewhat into something Stiles is sure is an equally rare sight. “I’m glad I met you, too.”

There’s a moment of silence where they look at each other, but then Derek nods towards the door. “I’m gonna head back to the table. Want me to get you anything?”

“Water. Just water, please.” Because the last thing Stiles needs right now is more to drink to potentially make a bigger fool out of himself. “I’ll be out in a second.”

Once Derek is gone, Stiles takes a moment to relieve himself and clean up, taking care to splash water on his face before rejoining Derek at their table.

The rest of the night passes much too quickly as they talk.

Stiles listens with rapt attention as Derek talks of growing up and fixing cars with his dad. It led to the discovery of how much he enjoys working with his hands. Carpentry came easy to Derek, and between the inheritance and life insurance he received after his family died, Derek was able to focus on it. He practically furnished everything in his loft—from the dining table and chairs to his nightstands and bookcases—and even a new bedroom set for Erica and Boyd’s first home. Word got around about the amazing woodwork, and Derek’s hobby grew into a small business.

It’s incredibly impressive. At least it is to Stiles who works at a local bakery. He explains how he was going to school for criminal justice but took a semester off when his dad got sick so he spent a lot of time cooking and baking, even if it’s seen as rather stereotypical for an omega—something Connor often reminded him of. But his dad’s heath was more important than his need to buck tradition. Besides, Stiles is good at it. It’s one of the few things that calm him, and he loves the creative outlet of making new recipes. So after graduation, his part-time job became full-time; if he really needs the money, he can always fall back on his degree.

From there, the conversation diverts to baseball and television. Stiles tells the woeful tale of being a long-suffering Mets fan. Derek, of course, gives him shit and Stiles is prepared to call their whole relationship off because no one— _no one!_ —talks bad about his _Mets_. Oh, who’s he kidding? Stiles knows that meeting Derek changed everything—that Derek slid so seamlessly into his life and heart that there’s no way he’s letting him go.

The thought makes him blush, but he brushes it away by admitting to a guilty pleasure of watching _The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills_ while he’s in heat. Derek counters by revealing he binge-watches _Cutthroat Kitchen_ during his rut. They laugh about the devious nature of Alton Brown, and it’s an easy divergence to Derek regaling him with tales of Erica’s exploits.

All too soon it’s last call and Stiles practically pouts as he slides out of the booth. He waits by the door while Derek closes out the tab, and tries to figure out a way to pay him back because drinks are _not_ cheap.

Even with what happened earlier, Stiles has no qualms about pulling Derek into a warm embrace when they step outside. There’s only a moment of hesitation when he stops to make sure Derek is okay with it. And when Derek’s strong arms envelop him, he sighs softly. It’s the most perfect hug and Stiles can’t help but notice how well he fits in Derek’s arms. It feels like home.

“Let me drive you home,” Derek says as he pulls away.

“Oh, come on. I’m fine.” Stiles is sure he could walk a straight line, touch his finger to his nose, and recite the alphabet backward if need be. It’s been hours since his last drink, opting to chug water for the rest of the night.

“I know you are. But I’d feel better about it. Please?”

“What about Roscoe?” he asks, nodding towards his baby blue Jeep.

“I’ll bring you back tomorrow so you can pick it up. I’m free whenever.”

_Damn Derek and his cute bunny teeth!_

“Okay!” Stiles relents. “But it’s my day off so I’m sleeping in.”

Derek huffs a laugh. “That’s fine.”

“And we’re having lunch. And _I’m_ paying,” he insists, poking Derek in the chest. “Got it?”

Derek raises an impressive brow that just screams ‘ _really?’_ but all he says is, “Okay.”

The Camaro is sleek, and black, and shiny, and Stiles has naughty images of being laid across the hood that he really needs to clear out of his mind before he’s in a confined space with Derek.

His fingers trail over the cool leather interior and he practically mewls as he sinks into the seat. “Fuck. I love your car. I’m sorry for whatever smells come off me right now but I seriously want to make love to your car.”

“She’s taken?” Derek says with another huff of laughter as the Camaro purrs to life.

The vibrations from the engine send shivers through him; a terrible reminder that Stiles’s sex life is currently non-existent. “Lucky girl.”

Derek pulls out of the parking lot. Stiles can’t help but stare at Derek’s arms, watching his tan skin stretch around his biceps as the muscles flex when Derek shifts gears. His traitorous dick jumps at the sight.

_Stop!_ He glares angrily at the bulge in his pants. _You are not allowed to react like this just from Derek_ driving _!_

Stiles shifts in his seat, subtly adjusting himself as he gives Derek directions. In order to distract himself and will away his hard-on, he chatters idly about the summer before his sophomore year of high school—it was the first time he smoked pot with Scott. The munchies were real, and Stiles ate an entire sleeve of Oreos. Derek laughs when Stiles sighs wistfully, stating that they make him nostalgic now.

The familiar exterior of his apartment building comes into view, and Derek parks at the curb in front of the door that Stiles points out. Stiles can't help but inhale that amber and sandalwood when they hug again before he pulls away and climbs out. He gives a half-wave as he stands on the sidewalk; Derek arches his brows in a way that says he’s not leaving until Stiles is behind closed doors, so Stiles rolls his eyes and tromps up the concrete steps.

When he has the door open, Stiles looks over his shoulder and waves again, this time giving Derek a look that says _shoo_. Hot and glarey is back, but Derek nods and the Camaro disappears out of the parking lot.

Stiles marches down the hall, taking the stairs two at a time until he’s in front of his door, sliding his key into the lock. Once he’s inside his apartment, his bed beckons him and he peels out of his clothes, not caring where they land before falling face-first into bed and succumbing to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🥺 thank you all for the continued support. it seriously means the world to me 💕

“I still can’t believe you baked cookies,” Scott says, waving the container in accusation.

Stiles rolls his eyes as they get out of the Jeep. It’s a beautiful night—the sky is clear, and the moon is full and bright as it hangs above them.

“Yeah, so?” he mumbles under his breath.

“I thought this wasn’t real.”

“ _Dude, keep it down!_ ” Stiles hisses as his eyes dart frantically around the parking lot. There’s no one around but he has no idea if Derek or his pack can hear them from Derek’s loft. “And those are thank you cookies because he changed my oil last week.”

Scott raises a brow and snorts. “Is that a euphemism?”

“Oh, shut up.” Stiles flips him off and slams the driver’s side door shut before walking around to the back of the Jeep. He pulls out a large box, holding it preciously. “Hey! You better not eat the one with the wolf. It’s for Derek.”

“Paw print.” Scott hastily shoves a cookie in his mouth and snaps the container shut. “Dude, you know you can’t make your mom’s sugar cookies and not let me have one! That’s just wr— Wait. Is that…?”

Stiles follows Scott’s gaze inside the box containing the remains of his side table. It broke the other day and the piece with his mom’s initials sits right on the top.

“Guess I knocked into it one too many times.” Stiles locks the Jeep and they walk into the old industrial building. They pass a row of mailboxes and a couple of doors before getting to the elevator at the end of the hall. “But Derek said he’d find a way to salvage it.”

“And you trust him with this?”

“Just because the relationship is fake, doesn’t mean the friendship is.” Stiles rolls his eyes and presses the button for Derek’s floor. “Anyway, what’s Allison up to tonight?”

“Dinner with her parents...”

As Scott goes on about Allison and her parents, Stiles watches the numbers on the display climb as each floor passes. The movement of the elevator doesn’t help the swoop of his stomach—like he’s woozy and seasick. He knows there’s no logical reason to be nervous about meeting Derek’s pack, but he is.

The elevator doors open with a soft _whoosh_ , revealing a long, empty hallway. They follow the hall until they’re in front of a large steel door.

Before Stiles can lift a hand to knock, the door slides open and a woman stands in the entryway. She’s got one hand on her hip and the other on the door. One perfectly sculpted brow is raised as she looks at them. Her blonde hair falls in waves over her shoulders, drawing Stiles’s eyes down, and he can’t help but appreciate how the leopard print top, black leather pants, and red heels make her look very much like the predator she is.

There’s absolutely no question that this is Erica.

Her cherry red lips smirk before she speaks. “ _Well well well..._ What do we have here?”

“As if you haven’t stolen my phone and seen his picture.” Derek appears behind her, like a knight in shining armor.

“ _Hi,_ ” Stiles breathes out, smiling softly at Derek.

“Hi, Stiles,” Derek says as he smiles back, all dimples and bunny teeth. “Here, let me—” he steps forward and takes the box from Stiles, setting it down just inside the doorway.

“Oh God, you guys are one of those sappy couples, aren’t you? All soft smiles and heart eyes.” Erica rolls her eyes but there’s a smile on her face. Derek’s mentioned a few times that she’s happily married to her high school sweetheart so he’s sure she knows a thing or two about being sappy. “All right. Come on, Bambi.”

“Bambi?” Stiles’s face scrunches in confusion.

“You’ve got doe eyes. Seriously, you’ve never been called Bambi before?” Erica loops an arm through his and leads him into the loft, towards two men standing in the kitchen.

“All right, so. The golden-haired cherub over there is Isaac,” she says as she pulls away from Stiles and walks into another man’s arms. “While tall, dark, and handsome here is my husband, Boyd.”

“Stiles,” he says because he’s kind of overwhelmed and wondering where Scott and Derek are, but then Derek’s hand is on the small of his back; and isn’t it crazy that he can tell who it is without looking?

But ever since the day Derek picked Stiles up for lunch, they hang out regularly and are always in each other’s spaces. Stiles doesn’t hesitate to lay his head on Derek’s shoulder when they’re watching a movie or brush arms as they walk, and Derek seemingly always has a hand on him—either squeezing his knee or laying gently on his waist.

So lost in his thoughts, Stiles doesn’t even notice Scott come up next to him until Scott is introducing himself.

“Scott McCall. It’s nice to meet you all,” Scott says because at least one of them should have manners and know social niceties. “Scotty’s technically a werewolf too but in reality, he’s more like a werepuppy,” Stiles says with a grin, more at ease now that he has Derek _and_ Scott with him.

Scott punches his arm in retaliation and Stiles is shocked when Derek growls.

Derek apologizes quickly. “Sorry.”

“No, that’s all right,” Scott assures him. “I did the same when Allison and I first started dating.”

Stiles is prepared for Derek to tense at the mention of Allison, but Derek has long since assured him that he holds no ill will towards Allison’s family—even though Allison’s aunt is the reason his family is dead. It’s been years since the tragedy and Allison’s father cut ties with _that_ side of the family long before it ever happened.

Conversation flows freely once everyone knows each other’s names and Erica slips from Boyd’s arms, reaching out to tug Stiles away from Derek. “All right, come on now. Derek’s been hogging you all to himself for weeks now. It’s our turn to get to know you. Besides, I’m sure Derek needs to check on the feast he prepared you.”

Derek grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like ‘ _it’s a full moon, we always eat a lot_ ’ but something about the way his ears are tipped pink tells Stiles that that might not be so true. It’s confirmed when Erica whispers in his ear, “Not like this.”

Erica walks him by the food covering the counter and points out what everything is. “Usually he makes the main dish and we bring the sides, but tonight he’s made bacon-wrapped water chestnuts, garlic parmesan brussel sprouts, caesar salad, stuffed steak, and pot roast.”

“Don’t forget the garlic bread in the oven.” Hot and glarey makes an appearance as Derek narrows his eyes at a smug-looking Isaac.

“That’s spinach and artichoke stuffed garlic bread,” Erica points out.

_Holy shit!_ Did Derek really make all this food for him? Knowing that kind of makes Stiles want to drop to his knees, bare his neck, and declare his undying love. He could probably get away with it right now considering they’re supposed to be dating, so Stiles takes the opportunity to pull away from Erica and kiss Derek’s cheek. “Thank you. It all looks and smells great.”

Before Stiles can get lost in the brilliant smile Derek gives him, Scott opens the container he’s holding and shows off the sugary treats inside. “Stiles made cookies.”

“Oh my God!” Erica exclaims as she takes the container from Scott’s hands. “These are adorable!”

“Look, Derek.” Isaac pulls out a cookie. Most of them are iced in white with a black paw print but there’s one that Stiles decorated special. The background is still white but instead of a paw print, it’s the silhouette of a black wolf seemingly howling at the moon. “It’s you.”

Stiles ducks his head and hates the way his face flames with embarrassment. It is supposed to be Derek. He even made raspberry jam to use as red for the eyes but changed his mind at the last minute, not wanting to go overboard. The last thing he wants is for anyone to make it a big deal. “They’re just cookies.”

The world fades away when Derek tips Stiles’s chin back and looks at him with an unreadable expression. “Thank you.”

“No worries,” Stiles says with a shrug like Derek’s touch, hell Derek’s general _everything_ , doesn’t have an effect on him. “It’s no big deal. A thank you for changing my oil.”

The moment is broken when Isaac snickers. “Was that a euphemism?”

Scott, being the best bro— _insert sarcasm here_ —gives Isaac a high five. “That’s what _I_ said!”

“You’re both terrible and I hate you,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes; though he’s not actually mad. In fact, he’s happy for Scott since he can already tell that Scott and Isaac are going to become fast friends.

“These are amazing.” Erica grabs his elbow and drags him out of the kitchen and over to a couch in the middle of what he assumes is the living area. “I want more. Where do you work? I get a friends and family discount now, right?”

“Yeah, of course.” Stiles looks around the room, taking in the exposed brick and large windows. There’s a spiral staircase to his left and along the wall to his right is a bed. All in all, it’s pretty similar to his studio apartment—minus the staircase and the fact that it’s bigger, much bigger. In fact, he’s pretty sure the entirety of his apartment could fit just in Derek’s living room.

Surprisingly, Erica doesn’t swoop into the spot next to him when he sits. Probably because Derek is suddenly occupying the space, pulling Stiles close. It’s all too natural how Stiles relaxes against him. “I know she looks intimidating but I promise you, she’s harmless.”

At that, Erica gives him a toothy smile. “Listen. Do you know how long I’ve waited to see Derek genuinely happy? I’m excited. Sue me,” she says before popping the rest of the cookie into her mouth.

After a few minutes of talking, where Stiles answers the plethora of questions Erica throws at him, Boyd calls Derek back into the kitchen. Derek kisses the side of his head and leaves Stiles alone with Erica. He’s not at all shocked when she _plops_ down next to him and leans close. Her voice is barely a whisper in his ear. “Derek’s never smiled as much as he has since meeting you. Even when it was just phone calls and text messages. So I’m only gonna say this once, Stiles. If you hurt him, I’ll kill you. Got it?”

“Yeah, no, I—” Stiles nods emphatically and swallows. “I got it. You don’t have to— I really like him. I would never hurt him. I promise.”

“Good.” Erica smiles brightly and jumps up from the couch. “Now how ‘bout a tour?” “Uh, yeah, okay.” Stiles wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and follows Erica around. The loft is even larger than he thought. There’s a small hallway off the wall that houses Derek’s bed, which leads to Derek’s private bathroom. There’s a half-bath next to the kitchen; upstairs is another bathroom, along with a couple of bedrooms that the pack will occasionally stay in if they need a place to sleep, but Erica assures him they’ll call first in case Derek’s busy.

With the way she winks at him, yes, that’s exactly what she meant.

It catches Stiles so off guard that his pulse skyrockets. The last thing he needs to think about in a house full of werewolves and super-noses is sex with Derek! Stiles excuses himself and hurries to Derek’s bathroom to splash water on his face in an attempt to cool off.

After a second, there’s a soft knock on the door and Stiles takes a deep breath before opening it. Derek stands on the other side and gently nudges Stiles back, closing the door behind them.

“Hey, are you okay?” Derek’s brows are pulled down in concern. “I heard your pulse rise. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I just—” Stiles leans back against the sink and curls his hands around the granite countertop, using it to ground himself. “I get overwhelmed sometimes.”

“I can tell them to leave. We can have dinner, just us,” Derek says quickly. And almost like an afterthought, he adds, “And Scott. I can just meet the pack at the preserve later.”

“ _No!_ No, Derek, don’t… Don’t do that. It’s okay, I’m okay. Besides, I’ve been looking forward to seeing you shift.” Derek stands there and tilts his head in consideration for a moment before his face relaxes minutely, and he nods. “Okay. C’mere,” he says, tugging Stiles up and sliding his arms around Stiles’s waist.

Stiles melts into the warm embrace, calming almost instantly when Derek rubs his back and does this sort of rumble-purr thing.

“This is _not_ why I showed you his bathroom, Stiles!” Erica yells through the door, followed by three loud knocks. “You guys can make out later!”

Stiles pulls away and blushes at the implication while Derek groans and lays his head on Stiles’s shoulder.

“Come on, lovebirds!” Erica yells again. “It’s time for dinner.”

Derek looks up and cups Stiles’s face with one hand. His thumb brushes over Stiles’s cheek as he quietly asks, “You sure you’re okay?”

Stiles leans into the touch and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

Derek walks him to the dining table, pulling out his chair. It’s so proper and formal that Stiles can’t keep the smile off his face. Certainly, not when Derek serves him first, piling his plate with all the delicious food he saw earlier.

Erica mentions something about it stemming from a werewolf’s need to provide for their mate.

“Mate?” Scott asks. It’s not something they’ve heard before other than the fabled idea of soulmates.

“Every werewolf has one,” Isaac says. “I haven’t found mine yet but I know they’re out there.”

“And until you do,” Erica starts wearing a cheeky grin, “I’ll keep setting you up on dates. There’s no reason for you to be lonely while you wait.”

Scott’s mouth drops open, and Stiles is thinking the same thing—what does this mean for his relationship with Allison? Derek appeases their worry though. As he sits, he looks at Scott with a smile. “From what I’ve heard about you and Allison, it’s pretty obvious that she’s yours. But there are books I could lend you if you wanted to be sure.”

Stiles tunes out of the conversation since he’s not a werewolf. Though he finds himself saddened at the thought of Derek finding a mate. He should be happy for his friend, but inside he’s dying at the thought of someone else being wrapped in Derek’s warm embrace—that one day, Derek will smile at someone else the way he smiles at him.

It's pointless to get upset at something that doesn’t appear to be within their control; so, when everyone files to the table, he distracts himself by stuffing his face.

Derek's hand is on his knee, squeezing lightly. “Good?”

“Delicious,” he says around a mouthful of steak, and Derek smiles brightly.

In fact, it’s so good that once his plate is empty, he gets up for seconds. Derek attempts to take it, likely to serve him again, but Stiles waves him away. “No, I got it.”

With his plate piled high, Stiles returns to the table and takes his spot next to Derek. Derek’s hand finds his knee again and it’s amazing how that one point of contact instantly calms him.

“You sure you’re not a ‘wolf?” Isaac asks with a snort, pointedly eyeing Stiles’s overflowing plate. “ _I_ don’t even eat that much.”

Before Stiles can retort, Derek gives Isaac a warning growl and Isaac holds his hands up in surrender. Stiles blushes at the display of protectiveness even if Isaac was only kidding, and leans over to kiss Derek’s cheek. “Defending my honor?”

This time Derek blushes and Stiles knocks shoulders with him before returning to his plate and inhaling his food. He almost goes for thirds but stops himself when Erica announces that it’s time to leave and the button of his jeans start straining.

Stiles somehow manages to convince Derek to carry him downstairs with little persuasion. For a moment, he feels ridiculous with everyone’s eyes on him, but none of it matters when Derek has an arm looped around his back and a hand on his ass.

Things are about to get really embarrassing for him, so Stiles does what comes naturally and deflects.

“This is all your fault, y’know. That was the best dinner I’ve ever had. It’s not like I couldn’t _not_ eat another one of those steak roll-up thingys!”

Derek shakes his head and huffs a breath of laughter. “So you liked it?”

“Mmm…” Stiles hums his approval and lays his head on Derek’s shoulder.

Once they’re outside by the Jeep, Derek lowers Stiles to the ground, but Stiles hesitates in letting him go. With one hand on Derek’s chest, he keeps the other on Derek’s shoulder. Derek seems to have the same issue because his hands are on Stiles’s waist.

“Drive safe.” Derek’s voice is soft and gentle. Stiles would normally roll his eyes or scoff at someone telling him how to drive; but something about how Derek is looking at him, like he’s something precious, has him nodding before he can even think about it.

“I will.” A throat is cleared and when Stiles glances over, Scott is looking at him and tapping Roscoe’s hood. “Can’t drive safely if we don’t, y’know, leave.”

Reluctantly, Stiles pulls away when Derek lets him go. As he climbs into the driver's seat, he groans loudly and petulantly, being sure to make eye contact with Derek across the parking lot.

Even though Stiles has had Roscoe since he was 16—and has no problem climbing in when he’s incredibly drunk—he makes it a point to dramatically flail and fail to climb in not once, or twice, but three times.

Derek rolls his eyes and laughs. “Go, Stiles.”

Stiles, being the mature adult that he is, sticks his tongue out at Derek. As he climbs in, he mutters under his breath, “ _Stupid sourwolf with his stupidly delicious feast._ ”

“I heard that!” Derek calls back. “Good.” Stiles buckles his seatbelt and starts the Jeep before throwing Derek a wink. “You were meant to, big guy.”

* * *

Stiles isn’t sure what he was expecting when Derek mentioned being able to shift into a wolf, but Derek getting naked never once factored into his thoughts, that’s for sure. So, needless to say, it comes as a shock when the pack starts stretching and Derek starts stripping.

“Uh, Stiles.” Scott hits his chest no less than five times before Stiles diverts his eyes.

_Not cool bro!_

“I hate you. I really, really hate you,” Stiles says with a groan because Derek’s shirt was already off and the jeans were being unbuttoned. Two more seconds and—

“You’re imagining him naked now, aren’t you?” Scott pinches his nose and grimaces. Stiles would feel bad about whatever smells are coming off of him but, goddammit, it’s been _weeks_ since he last jerked off. “Glad we’re outside.”

Before Stiles can respond, a wet nose presses against his elbow. His mouth drops open as he takes in Derek’s shifted form. The wolf stands to his chest, a hulking beast with fur black as night.

Stiles instinctively drops to his knees when Derek sits back on his haunches. His hands card through Derek’s fur as he presses their foreheads together and smiles softly. “ _Hi…_ ”

After a couple of seconds, Derek flops down and exposes his stomach, making Stiles snort. “A tummy rub? Really?”

Derek lets out a low whine that has Stiles hurrying to comply. “Okay, okay. No need to get all pouty.”

“All right, Stiles.” Stiles’s head snaps up. It’s the first time Stiles has heard Boyd speak all night. Okay, Boyd _might_ have spoken during dinner but Stiles was too focused on Derek and food that all else fell away. “We’re going to run but we won’t stray far.” “Yeah, but if anything happens, just yell. Derek will likely get to you first, but the rest of us won’t be too far behind,” Isaac assures him.

“So we just run?” Scott juts his chin out to the woods. Yes, Scott is a werewolf but he’s never spent a full moon like this before. In high school, Stiles would sleepover and they’d play video games all night. Now? Well, Stiles tries not to think about how Scott spends full moons with Allison.

Derek sits again, nodding as Erica confirms, “Just for a few hours. It helps burn up any excess energy.”

Stiles pushes up from the ground and wipes the dirt from his knees as he stands. “But it’s okay if I walk around right? I don’t have to stay here, do I?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” After exchanging her heels for sneakers, Erica throws her hair in a low ponytail and tucks her long bangs behind her ears. “Like Isaac said, we’re not going far so we’ll hear you.”

“All right. Well. Have fun!” Stiles shoos them away, though he’s not surprised that Derek is the last to leave. “Oh, go on, Derek. Don’t you have a tree to mark,” he jokes, earning a recognizable glare from the wolf.

Derek stays by his side until they hit the treeline and Stiles nudges at him, pushing him forward. The look Stiles gets is full of mournful reluctance but Derek throws his head back and howls, long and loud. The sound echoes through the preserve and Stiles swears he can feel it in his bones, like it shakes his very core—Derek is calling for his pack and Stiles wants to answer.

Derek butts his head against Stiles’s hand and Stiles nods. “Go on, Derek. I’ll be okay.”

With one final look at Stiles, Derek runs.

Knowing that there’s no way he can keep up, Stiles sets an unhurried pace as he walks through the preserve, taking in its beauty.

The moonlight filters through the trees and casts shadows all around him. Combined with the sounds of the forest, Stiles would normally be scared, but he’s comforted in knowing that Derek is near. All he has to do is call out and not only will Derek come running, but five werewolves will be at his heels.

It’s not long before he hears the gentle pad of paws against the earth, and Stiles stops in his tracks to watch Derek approach. “What is that?” he asks, noticing something in Derek’s mouth.

A rabbit is laid in front of him and Stiles arches a brow. “Hippity hoppity, Easter’s no longer on its way because you _killed_ Peter Cottontail, Derek.”

Derek’s eye roll is recognizable in any form.

Stiles knows there’s some significance in Derek bringing him a rabbit, but doesn’t read too much into it since it’s all pretend. Maybe Stiles should be concerned about hurting Derek’s feelings, but he’s sure that Derek will know he’s teasing, so he says, “Okay, but seriously, this is all I get?”

This time there’s a huff of breath before Derek walks away. Stiles shuffles forward quickly. “I’m kid— Oh, come on, I’m joking, Derek. I _love_ the bunny! Thumper is Bambi’s best friend, y’know!”

When Derek disappears through the tree line, Stiles picks up the rabbit and trudges back to the cars. There’s got to be a recipe for rabbit soup or something, so he pulls out his phone and hits up Google. During his search, He finds out that he’ll have to skin and gut it first, which doesn’t sound appealing at all. That’s fine. He’ll leave it for Derek, positive that he’ll know what to do.

As Stiles walks back through the woods, there’s a loud _whoop_ as Isaac races past. Scott follows closely, doing a circle around Stiles before chasing after Isaac. It’s awesome to see his best friend having such a good time. Erica’s laughter echoes through the trees so he knows she and Boyd are nearby as well.

A branch snaps behind him and Stiles turns, narrowing his eyes in hopes of seeing whatever is heading his way.

“Oh. My. God.”

Derek looks smug when he drops a large buck at Stiles’s feet.

“Wow, I—” Stiles is at a loss for words because while yes, Derek is an alpha werewolf, this buck is _massive_ —definitely not something Derek just chased and snapped up with his teeth. No, this buck would have run.

Derek _hunted_ this.

This might not mean anything more to Derek than proving to his pack that they’re dating, but it means everything to Stiles. No one has ever gone out of their way to show him how much they care, but Derek does it time and time again, even though he doesn't need to. At least not to these lengths. Stiles is sure that Derek's pack would have gotten the hint with the rabbit from earlier.

The lines blur and Stiles’s heart aches, wishing this were real. But it's not, and he has no idea if the pack is around to see them, so he steps over the buck and stares down at Derek with a look of awe.

“Thank you, Derek,” he whispers, brushing his knuckles down the side of Derek’s face. “Thank you.”

The moment is broken when Derek’s tail thumps wildly on the ground and Stiles snorts as Derek’s tongue lolls out of his mouth. “Pretty proud of yourself, aren’t ya?” This earns him a tongue bath, a slurpy kiss right across his face.

“ _Nonono_. We do not make out in wolf form,” Stiles says with a laugh as he wipes his face with his shirt.

It seems Derek doesn’t feel the need to run anymore because he plops himself to the ground and tugs at the hem of Stiles’s shirt.

“You done then?” Stiles asks as he scratches behind Derek’s ears. When Derek nods, Stiles sits and leans against him. “Thanks for tonight, Derek. This was fun. And I really like your pack.”

* * *

Stiles is using Derek as a pillow, running his hands idly through Derek’s fur when the pack finally crashes through the trees. They’re equal parts impressed and amused at the large buck lying on the ground in front of the Jeep.

“Hey, Stiles. Ready to go?” Scott asks. Since they rode together, Stiles needs to drop him off at home now that the run is over.

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Erica asks, pulling twigs from her hair.

“Yeah, I gotta take Scotty home.”

Scott dusts off his pants and shirt as he nods. “Allison’s waiting.”

Isaac walks over to the Camaro and grabs Derek’s clothes from the trunk. They’re tossed in Derek’s direction and Stiles catches them before they hit the ground. “Okay. I’ll give you a call tomorrow?”

While Scott and Isaac hammer out the details of their plans, Stiles is distracted by Derek getting up and stretching. It’s nothing spectacular until the air ripples around him. Black fur fades away, revealing smooth, tanned skin and Stiles can’t bring himself to look away.

Stiles wants to wrap his arms around Derek’s waist. He wants to run his hands up Derek’s back and feel the muscles shift beneath his palms, as he lays his head against Derek’s chest.

Erica’s voice draws Stiles’s attention away from watching Derek get dressed. She wears a smirk when he looks at her. “You should come back to the loft with us. Scott said he’d pick you up tomorrow.”

Derek’s hands settle on his waist and there’s a kiss pressed to his shoulder before Derek whispers in his ear. “Stay. _Please._ ”

Stiles looks at Scott for confirmation as he subconsciously leans back against Derek.

“Yeah, it’s all right, Stiles. You should go with them but uh, Derek? Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Yeah.” Derek moves around Stiles and follows Scott to the treeline. It looks like an intense discussion, with Scott attempting a hard stare, and Derek nodding in response to whatever is being said.

“What are they talking about?” Stiles asks when Isaac snorts.

“You,” Erica tells him.

Boyd does him a favor by elaborating, “Scott’s threatening him bodily harm if he hurts you.”

“Oh my G—” Stiles throws his hands in the air and rolls his eyes. “ _Seriously, Scott?_ ”

“Just doing my duty as best friend.” Scott walks back with Derek and pulls Stiles into a hug. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah, okay.” Stiles pulls the Jeep’s keys from his pocket and hands them to Scott. “Be gentle with her.”

Stiles waves when Scott drives away and when the tail lights disappear down the dirt path, he exclaims, “Shit! How are we gonna get the deer home?”

“Well, while you were making googly eyes at Derek when he dressed,” Erica says as she climbs into the back of the Camaro from the driver’s side, “We loaded it into your Jeep.” Isaac opens the passenger side, pulling the seat forward to slide in next to her. “Scott said he and Allison would take care of it. You’ll get it back when it’s properly butchered.”

“The rabbit, too,” Boyd chips in. The three of them look ridiculous packed into the backseat. “Um, maybe _I_ should sit back there,” Stiles offers. “Boyd can sit up fr—”

“No.” Derek urges Stiles into the passenger seat with a hand on the small of his back. “You sit here.”

* * *

When the pack files back into the loft, everyone disperses. Isaac disappears upstairs while Erica and Boyd start cleaning up from dinner.

“You want to shower?” Derek asks and even though Stiles doesn’t feel dirty, he nods because a shower sounds nice right now.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Derek grabs a pair of sweats and a shirt from the dresser by his bed before leading Stiles to the bathroom and pointing out where everything is.

“Towels are in the cabinet. Use whatever you want. There’s also a spare toothbrush in the drawer.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Stiles stands alone in Derek’s bathroom and blows out a breath. The top drawer of the sink has a razor and extra blades, while the second has clippers. He lucks out, finding the extra toothbrushes in the bottom drawer.

Blue is just pretty so Stiles grabs the blue toothbrush and quickly brushes his teeth before turning on the shower. Once the water is warm, he jumps in and washes himself off using Derek’s body wash. As much as he would love to stay under the spray and contemplate life, he also doesn’t want to keep Derek waiting, knowing Derek would probably like to shower as well.

Hurrying through the rest of his shower, Stiles shampoos his hair and gives himself one last full-body rinse before shutting the water off and stepping out—feeling refreshed.

Stiles dries himself quickly and rubs the towel through his hair before pulling on the clothes Derek gave him. The pants are loose and hang low on his hips, while the shirt is baggy on his lanky frame.

Not quite sure what to do with the towel, he tosses it over his shoulder and steps out of the bathroom. The steam billows around him and he smiles sheepishly at Derek. “Sorry. I like hot showers.”

Derek’s eyes flash red and Stiles shivers involuntarily. A pajama-clad Isaac is the only one in the kitchen besides Derek so he asks, “W-where are Erica and Boyd?”

Isaac answers since Derek seems to have lost his words. “Showering.”

“ _Oh_. Need any help with anything?” Stiles asks but as he looks around, he notices that the dining table is clear of food, the kitchen is sparkling with everything washed, and the counters wiped down.

“Nah, I think we’re good,” Isaac tells him.

Derek’s still staring at him and Stiles swallows thickly because he feels like prey. With every step he takes, Derek tracks his movement. It’s only when Erica and Boyd tromp down the stairs that Derek’s trance is broken.

Stiles exclaims when Isaac and Boyd rearrange the living room and Erica tosses blankets and pillows on the floor. “I knew it! I knew you did a puppy pile!”

“Not a puppy pile, Stiles.” There’s a hint of fang when Derek speaks which would explain why his words sound slurred.

“I mean, it’s _kind of_ a puppy pile,” Isaac says from his spot on the floor.

“ _Don’t_ encourage him,” Derek says, sounding more like himself. Stiles smiles when Derek steps close and kisses the side of his head, making his eyes flutter shut. “And you don’t have to sleep on the floor. I don’t. Just lie on the bed and relax, okay?”

Stiles hums in agreement, swaying into Derek’s space when he pulls away. “Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna shower. But I won’t be long,” Derek promises.

“Okay.”

It should feel weird crawling into Derek’s bed but it doesn’t. Stiles slips under the cool Egyptian cotton sheets and loses track of time as he melts into the mattress. It seems like only minutes have passed when there’s a dip in the bed behind him, and Derek presses against his back.

“Goodnight, Stiles,” Derek says as he kisses the back of Stiles’s neck. One arm is thrown casually around Stiles’s middle, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, in the same way their legs tangle together.

Stiles sighs in content with how perfectly they fit together, and when Derek’s arm tightens around him, he whispers, “Goodnight, Derek.”

It’s really too bad that it’s all fake. Actually, that wouldn’t even matter. Even if it _was_ real, their relationship would have an expiration date because Derek has a mate out there somewhere. Someone _not_ him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh man, y'all are awesome! i really appreciate all the kudos and comments and love 🥺

Stiles leans against the wall of the elevator as it takes him up to Derek’s loft. The day was long, too long, and he’s drained. For the most part, Stiles loves his job. However, it’s days like today that really take a toll, where he wishes he was one of those stay-at-home omegas, who were just doted on by their alpha. Both his head and feet hurt from pulling another double at the bakery, but what really wore him out was the mental exhaustion as his day went from annoying, to lousy, to straight-up disastrous.

First, there was an unexpected power outage in the building, which in itself wasn’t bad, but the bakery ended up opening late because of it. Most people were understanding, but one woman berated him for not planning the outage better and didn’t appreciate when Stiles tried to explain that it was beyond his control. Apparently, her day was ruined because she couldn’t get her morning muffin.

Things went downhill during lunch when someone came in and asked about a custom birthday cake for a party they were throwing that afternoon. Stiles plastered a smile on his face when the person kept telling him that their 48-hour notice was a stupid policy, even rudely suggesting that maybe they should have cakes on hand. Stiles didn’t bother mentioning how they normally do, but the late opening put them behind.

His headache started around 3 p.m. when a young woman called him names because he wouldn’t refund her money; she claimed the blueberry muffin she bought was unsatisfactory. Maybe he would have if she hadn’t eaten the whole thing.

But none of that compared to the alpha who complained about him to his boss; he insisted the buttercream frosting on his special order cupcakes were the wrong shade of blue. Stiles was shaking when the alpha yelled that they should have known better than to hire “ _an incompetent omega who can’t tell the difference between baby blue and sky blue!_ ”

Yeah, Stiles had to take a breather after that one.

By the time he slipped on some spilled flour and got green icing on his brand new converse, Stiles was ready to curl into a ball and disappear for the next 12 years.

Thankfully, days like today are few and far between. While normally Stiles would go to Scott’s and unwind with video games, the last thing he wants is Scott’s positivity. He could go to Lydia’s, but he’s not in the mood for her tough love either. Not tonight.

Tonight he wants Derek.

Stiles wants Derek’s arms around him, comforting him the way an alpha comforts their omega. It doesn’t matter that their relationship is fake. In the time that they’ve known each other, Derek has always taken care of him and been a source of strength when Stiles needs it.

And right now, Stiles needs it.

The elevator lurches to a stop, pulling Stiles from his thoughts. He sighs heavily as the doors _whoosh_ open and practically speed walks down the hall. Derek is so close.

So close.

Before he even sees Derek’s door, he hears the familiar grate of the wheel tracks as it slides open and speeds up.

“Stiles?” Derek’s already there, looking at him in concern—likely smelling the sourness of his mood. Stiles launches himself at Derek, wrapping his arms around Derek’s middle. “Hey, what’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“Need you,” Stiles mumbles against Derek’s chest. Knowing there’s no pretense that he has to plaster on a smile or even think, Stiles exhales. For the first time all day, he can breathe.

“I’ve got you. I’m here.” Derek kisses the top of Stiles’s head and holds him close while rubbing his back. “Let’s get you inside.”

Stiles nods and brings his arms up to loop around Derek’s neck because now that he’s in Derek’s embrace, he’s unwilling to pull away.

Derek chuckles against Stiles’s temple. “All right, little omega. Up you go.”

It’s not at all surprising that Derek lifts him without difficulty, holding Stiles’s ass firmly with one hand while tenderly cradling the back of his head with the other. Stiles clings to him like a lifeline, wrapping his legs around Derek’s waist and clutching him like a koala.

“You could at least try to make it look like it’s hard, Derek. I’m not 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bones anymore. I have muscle now, y’know,” Stiles’s voice cracks as he mumbles into Derek’s shoulder.

_So much for casual and light-hearted._

Derek’s arms go tense, tightening around him. It’s clear he wants to say more but also knows Stiles well enough not to push him—that when Stiles makes jokes, it means he’s not ready to talk yet.

“Yes, Stiles. Whatever you say, Stiles,” Derek says in a fond, yet teasing tone that Stiles appreciates. He’s grateful to Derek for holding back.

As Stiles nuzzles closer, nosing along Derek’s neck, he focuses on the sharp lines of Derek’s jaw until he’s gently eased onto the couch. Before he can kick off his shoes, Derek gets on one knee and unties them, letting each one fall to the floor with a soft _thump_.

It’s so domestic and sickeningly sweet, but damn if Stiles’s heart doesn’t do a little flip at the gesture. The omega in him preens at being taken care of.

“Thank you,” Stiles whispers. As he looks into Derek’s eyes, Stiles is suddenly hit with the overwhelming urge to lean forward and kiss him. The only thing that stops him is a loud, insistent beep from the kitchen.

_Thank God for small favors_. That would have been embarrassing.

“You’re welcome,” Derek says with a soft smile before asking, “Are you hungry?”

Stiles nods and gets another kiss to the top of his head when Derek stands. The remote is placed on his lap before Derek walks to the kitchen.

“Good. Because dinner’s almost ready,” Derek calls out over his shoulder.

As Stiles waits, he scrolls through Netflix to find something to watch. Taking a deep breath, the only discerning scent Stiles can pick out is some type of pasta—maybe, but he’s not a werewolf with a super sniffer.

“So what’d you make?” Stiles calls over his shoulder.

Derek always has the best food. No matter how randomly Stiles drops by, Derek usually makes something that Stiles loves. Derek’s pantry is full of Stiles’s favorite snacks and even Stiles’s favorite soda, which is normally a special order from the local grocery store because they don’t carry the flavor he likes.

“You’ll see,” is the answer Derek gives. Only a few minutes later, a heaping plate of lasagna is set on Stiles’s lap. Stiles holds the plate and scrambles up into a proper sitting position—suitable to stuff his face full of cheese, and carbs, and warmth.

“You are the best,” Stiles says to Derek’s retreating form. The first bite of lasagna hits his tongue and Stiles can’t help the moan he lets out. There’s a clatter in the kitchen and Stiles looks over his shoulder to make sure everything is okay. “Derek? You good?”

Derek clears his throat and nods. “Yeah. Nothing you have to worry about. How’s the food?”

Stiles takes another bite and grins brightly, speaking around a mouthful of food. “So good. I really don’t deserve you.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek says rather fondly as he settles on the couch. With his own plate perched precariously on the armrest, Derek throws an arm around Stiles’s shoulders and pulls him close.

While Stiles enjoys the feeling of Derek’s thumb tracing a circle on his arm, part of Stiles feels the need to protest because Derek is now left to eat with only one hand. What stops him is the fact that Derek seems to prefer Stiles tucked against him and, if Stiles is being entirely honest with himself, so does he.

As they eat, Stiles focuses on Derek’s touch, letting it continue to ground him. He’s calm enough by the time they’re done eating that he offers to wash the dishes, insists really, and pushes Derek back against the couch when he tries to get up. Besides, it’s almost cheating as all Stiles does is load everything into the dishwasher, so he takes time to get the leftovers packed away and wipe down the counters and stove. It’s the least he could do for barging in and messing up whatever plans Derek may have had.

When he’s done, Stiles walks back to the living area and throws himself over the back of the couch, wiggling his toes in Derek’s lap. It’s a clear message of ‘ _massage me, please,_ ’ which Derek picks up on, and it’s so good that Stiles grips the cushions. He chews his bottom lip to bite back moans as Derek’s thumbs dig into the arches of his feet.

After a ridiculous amount of time, Derek taps Stiles’s ankle to indicate that he’s done, and Stiles pulls his legs up to flip around on the couch. His shoes are sitting on the floor, next to the coffee table, and the green stain catches his attention.

The unwanted reminder of his day makes him clingy and needy, but Stiles fights the impulse to crawl onto Derek’s lap; he wants to curl against his chest by lying down and using Derek’s lap as a pillow.

“You wanna tell me about it?” Derek asks quietly, carding his fingers through Stiles’s hair.

Stiles whimpers when the events of the day hit him at full force and, like earlier, he just wants Derek’s comfort. Stiles isn’t sure exactly what chemosignals he’s emitting, but he _yelps_ as he’s hoisted up, and unceremoniously maneuvered until he’s straddling Derek’s lap.

Derek rubs their cheeks together, and Stiles lets out a shaky breath as he balls his hands in Derek’s shirt. His voice cracks as he speaks, choking on the lump in his throat. For the most part, he’s managed to keep his emotions in check—but as he tells Derek about his terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, the dam breaks.

Derek whispers words of praise as Stiles relays each event, and when Stiles mentions the alpha who called him incompetent, Derek growls and his arms tighten around Stiles’s waist.

“You’re so good, Stiles. So smart and kind and brave,” Derek mumbles when he kisses Stiles’s temple. “You always say I’m too good for you but that’s so wrong. I don’t deserve _you_ , Stiles.”

Derek’s words send a shiver through him. As an omega, Stiles craves it and will do anything to please his alpha. Except that Derek _isn’t_ his alpha which makes him whimper again and clutch at Derek in desperation.

“ _Alpha,_ ” Stiles begs, and Derek’s arms tighten around him. His whole body vibrates from the weird sort of rumble-purr that Derek does to calm him.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you, Stiles,” Derek promises and Stiles nods. It’s an easy promise to believe when Derek sounds so earnest.

After a few minutes of Derek rubbing his back, Stiles finally calms again and lets out a heavy breath, sagging against Derek’s chest. It’s late and he’s physically and emotionally exhausted.

“I should probably get home,” he whispers. “I’m tired and just wanna sleep now.”

Derek’s hands grip Stiles’s hips. “Stay.”

Stiles leans back and searches Derek’s eyes. With all the extra shifts he’s picked up at work, he hasn’t stayed over since the full moon two weeks ago. There’s no legitimate reason for him to stay tonight, no pack to impress but Stiles doesn’t want to leave, so he asks, “You sure?”

Instead of a verbal response, one of Derek’s arms stays secured around Stiles’s back while the other settles on his ass. Stiles locks his legs around Derek’s waist when Derek stands and carries him over to the bed. Definitely not what Stiles is expecting but he supposes that the pack could come in at any point and would probably question why Stiles is sleeping in one of the guest rooms.

The gentle care that Derek takes in laying him on the mattress and undressing him down to his boxers makes Stiles’s heart clench. Whoever Derek’s mate is will be the luckiest person in the world, and Stiles already hates them.

“What are you thinking about?” Derek asks as he slides up behind Stiles, holding him tightly.

Stiles shrugs, unwilling to talk about the inevitable. He wants to live in this state of fantasy for as long as he can. “You. Always you.”

Derek makes a noise of approval before pressing a kiss to the back of Stiles’s neck. “I’ve got a better idea.”

“Yeah? What’s that, big guy?”

“If you sleep, you can _dream_ about me.”

Stiles snorts and slaps his hands over his face at the unattractive sound. “That was pretty smooth.”

“Go to sleep, Stiles.”

With Derek’s warmth surrounding him, Stiles is helpless to do anything but comply.

* * *

Sunlight streams through the loft’s windows. Stiles’s eyes blink open as he floats in that space where he’s not fully awake yet. The night comes back as his brain kicks online and he recognizes the high ceiling and brick walls.

His head no longer hurts and he feels completely relaxed and comfortable, especially with Derek’s arms still around him.

Did Derek hold him all night?

The thought makes him sigh wistfully. It’s so different from the first morning Stiles woke up in Derek’s bed, after the full moon. There was a minor state of panic when Stiles realized he was sporting some major morning wood, but luckily Derek was already in the kitchen making breakfast.

Derek’s back muscles rippled and Stiles may have drooled a little. Isaac definitely wrinkled his face in disgust, while Erica looked ecstatic and made some comments about giving them alone time, which made Stiles’s face flame with embarrassment.

Stiles may or may not have skipped breakfast that morning in his haste to leave the loft.

Not today though. Stiles still feels needy and clingy, and can’t even bring himself to leave Derek’s bed—let alone the loft. Though he _does_ need the bathroom. He tries to pull away but Derek’s arms tighten around him. It makes his heart flip again. He’s never felt so loved and cared for.

Somehow, Stiles manages to slip free, and his bladder thanks him as he relieves himself.

While he’s in the bathroom, Stiles splashes some water on his face and brushes his teeth. He could go for a shower too, but his need to be held greatly outweighs his desire to fully freshen up, so he goes back to Derek’s bed.

Stiles holds back a snort as he stares down at Derek. In the short amount of time that he was gone, Stiles was replaced. The pillow Stiles used is currently being clutched to Derek’s chest like Derek chased Stiles’s warmth and scent.

Slipping back into bed is definitely easier than when he slipped out of it. It’s like Derek knows the pillow is an imposter and tosses it aside to reach for Stiles.

Stiles lands against Derek’s chest with an _oof!_ He fights the shiver that runs down his spine when Derek nuzzles the back of his neck and places a kiss on his shoulder.

As it is, Stiles gasps when Derek’s morning wood presses against his ass. It feels too good and it’s been too long. He lets out an embarrassingly high pitched whine as his boxers soak from all the slick he’s producing—in preparation for the sex he’s most certainly not having. It’s both disappointing and sad. Derek, however, lets out a pleased growl and grinds against Stiles’s ass.

_Oh, fuck_.

He should stop this because Derek doesn’t know what he’s doing. This is just a case of an alpha responding to an omega’s arousal, especially with the way Stiles is leaking slick.

Stiles bites his bottom lip to suppress a moan, but thankfully his phone _pings_ with a notification. It saves him from a really embarrassing situation considering he was about to flip onto his stomach, stick his ass in the air, and present. But a part of him also dies a little because it’s been so long since he’s had sex and all he can think is Derek. Alpha. Knot.

Stiles’s phone _pings_ again and when Stiles pulls away to reach for it, Derek’s arm tightens again.

“No squishing the fragile human,” Stiles says as he looks over his shoulder. Derek is blinking up at him, sporting a serious case of bedhead. It makes Derek look so soft and cute that Stiles can’t help but smile fondly. “I just gotta check my phone, sourwolf.”

Derek growls playfully but loosens his hold, allowing Stiles to reach for his phone. It’s plugged into the wall and Stiles rolls his eyes because Derek had to have done it after setting Stiles on the bed and undressing him.

This man is going to be the death of him. As soon as Derek finds his mate, Stiles’s heart is going to shatter into a million pieces. Derek has ruined him for all others. All of Stiles’s future dates will get compared to Derek and no one will be good enough.

And it’s not even a real relationship!

Stiles grabs the phone and opens his notifications. His eyes go wide at the heat reminder staring back at him.

_Shit!_

How could Stiles forget his heat? In his defense, it’s been years since he last had to worry about how to spend a heat since he had a willing boyfriend at the time. That is no longer the case and only serves as a painful reminder of his non-existent sex life. At least he has an explanation for why he was so clingy last night.

“Stiles?”

The sound of Derek’s voice startles him and Stiles flails out of bed. His face floods with embarrassment at the splat he makes as his ass hits the ground.

_Stupid slick_. He really hates being an omega sometimes.

His mortification grows when Derek peeks over the bed, nostrils flaring and eyes bleeding red.

“ _Stiles._ ” This time his name is practically purred and Stiles squeaks as he stands, scrambling to find his clothes.

“I have to— I have to go. I have to go now,” he stammers as he dresses, unable to look Derek in the face.

There’s a rustling and Stiles sees Derek moving out of the corner of his eye, climbing off the bed. “Stiles? What’s wrong?”

“Sorry. Nothing. Nothing’s wrong,” Stiles says as he flies to the living room and shoves his feet in his shoes. With his phone still clutched in his hands, he pats his pockets to make sure his wallet and keys are there. Satisfied that he’s not leaving anything behind, he flees from the loft.

* * *

Stiles’s phone rings and _pings_ with notifications as he speeds home, it’s likely Derek checking on him. And sure enough, by the time he pulls into his parking spot, there are three missed calls and a slew of texts showing varying degrees of worry. With a heavy sigh, Stiles trudges upstairs to his apartment and barges through his front door. It slams shut behind him, and he locks it before groaning and falling face-first on the couch.

This sucks so much. Not only does Stiles need to call Derek to apologize and explain, but he also has the fun task of figuring out what he’s going to do for his heat. Maybe he should go on suppressants—it would suck, but then he wouldn’t have to worry about how he’s going to spend it.

Going through heat alone is possible—it’s just not fun. And Stiles would have to make sure someone could check on him every once in a while to make sure he eats. He supposes his dad or Scott could do it like they did before Stiles met Connor. It’s highly embarrassing because the last thing he wants is either of them seeing him like that, but the only other person he trusts is Derek—and that is definitely _not_ happening.

Not because Derek would say no. Stiles is fairly certain that Derek would say yes because he’s seriously the best, one of the reasons that Stiles loves him so much. But Stiles is also fairly certain that the minute Derek stepped foot in the apartment, he’d push Derek up against a wall and try his hardest to ride Derek’s knot.

Stiles bites his bottom lip as he pictures Derek spinning them around until Stiles is the one pinned against the wall. A shiver runs down his spine and he moans as he ruts against the cushions. More slick dampens his boxers and drips down his balls but he doesn’t care, just flips over and shimmies out of his jeans, shoving the boxers down until he can get a hand around his dick.

The first touch makes Stiles hiss in anticipation because it’s been too long since he’s touched himself. Stiles tightens his grip, letting out a long, low moan that reverberates off the walls as he speeds up his strokes. His eyes flutter closed as he remembers the feel of Derek’s dick against his ass. He wants to come so bad and he’s already so close. Unfortunately, his phone rings, and of course it’s Derek, which is a boner killer only because of the guilt that creeps up.

_Fuck!_

Derek is his friend and he absolutely should not be fantasizing about him like this.

Stiles leans over the edge of the couch and slaps at the ground until he recognizes the smooth surface of his phone. He grabs it by the tips of his fingers and falls back against the couch again as he answers the call.

“D-Derek?” His voice comes out breathless, high and shaky from being on the brink of his first orgasm in far too long.

“Stiles? Are you okay?” Derek’s voice is full of concern and Stiles blows out a harsh breath as he runs a hand through his hair. He’s mildly grossed out because it’s sticky with slick and precome but oh well.

“M’fine.”

“You don’t sound fine. Will you tell me what’s going on? Did I do something?”

“No, Derek. It was me. I—” Stiles sucks in a breath as he pulls his boxers back up—the waistband catching on the sensitive head of his dick. _Ow!_ “My phone, I— I got a reminder about... _something_.”

“Something?”

Does he tell Derek? If he doesn’t, Derek will wonder why he’s suddenly disappeared. And with Stiles’s luck, Derek would stop by the apartment, only instead of sexy times like his fantasy, Derek would be appalled. Okay, probably not, but there’s no way Stiles would ever be able to look him in the eyes ever again. Stiles would have to leave Beacon Hills and never come back.

“Stiles? I like to think I’m pretty good at reading you, but it’s not as easy over the phone. You’re going to have to use your words so I know what’s wrong.”

Coming from Derek, that’s hilarious. “Really? You’re telling _me_ to use my words?”

“You almost never shut up.”

_“Hey!_ ” Stiles protests but Derek cuts him off.

“So when you do, that means you’re stuck in your head. Normally, I wouldn’t worry but you kind of seemed freaked out when you bolted out of here earlier.”

Stiles groans and sits up against the armrest. He stares over the other end of the couch where his mother’s side table sits in its permanent home now that Derek’s fixed it. It’s sturdy and able to carry some weight, so it now holds an antique-looking lamp that Stiles is sure his mom would have liked.

Focusing on the lamp and table, Stiles decides _fuck it_ and pretends that talking about his heat is a normal topic of conversation.

“I got a reminder that my heat is due. Next week.”

“And that freaked you out?”

“Little bit. I mean, I was lying in bed with you, Derek, and your dick was pressed against my ass.”

“I’ll try not to be offended.”

Stiles snorts because he can picture Derek rolling his eyes. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m sure you have a very nice dick.”

And this is exactly why Stiles loves Derek so much, why he values their friendship so much, because Derek puts him at ease. Derek puts him in a state where he can joke about Derek’s dick and talk about heats like it really is nothing.

“Well, you’ll definitely find out soon.”

Stiles pauses. Surely, Derek can’t mean…

“For my heat,” he says, not really believing that _that’s_ what Derek could be alluding to.

“Yeah. You said next week, right? I’ve got a couple of projects I’m working on but I should be done by then, and I’ll make sure not to take on any new projects.”

“Derek, you don’t— You know you don’t have to do that, right? I would never expect you to just help me through my heat.”

“I know.”

“You’ll— I mean, I get kind of…” Stiles has no idea how to describe how truly insatiable he gets during heat, or how much he wants to ride Derek’s knot. _Fuck it_ , he thinks again and just blurts, “ _Iwantyoutoknotme._ Can we, can we do that? I mean, will you?”

Now it’s Derek that sounds a little breathless and there’s that damn growl that shoots straight to Stiles’s dick, making it jump in his boxers. “I think I can handle that.”

“You sure?” Stiles is shocked at how low and sultry his voice goes, but his asshole is already clenching in anticipation of being filled.

_By Derek’s knot._

Derek makes a pained sound before slurring, “ _Yes_ ,” like he’s speaking around his fangs.

It’s silent for a moment, nothing but them breathing into their phones. Stiles is scared to move a muscle because he’s on a hair-trigger, and if there’s any friction whatsoever on his dick, it’s over. He will cum completely untouched just from thinking about Derek knotting him.

“I should go now,” Stiles says, finally breaking the silence once he’s calmed down. There’s a lot of planning to be done for his heat—including making sure he has the time off of work. Definitely safer territory than continuing to talk to Derek about knots.

“Call me when you can. So we can work out details. Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I will. Bye.”

Stiles swallows thickly and blows out a breath when he hangs up. He’s good for all of five seconds before he starts to panic.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am seriously at a loss for words with all the love you guys have shown for this fic. i am really, truly honored that you like it. all the kudos, comments, bookmarks, and subscriptions mean THE WORLD to me. 
> 
> now! who's ready for stiles's heat????? 🙋♀️

This has been simultaneously the shortest and longest week of Stiles’s life. The shortest because he’s so nervous. Even if he puts aside the fact that Derek has a mate out there somewhere, this could change things between him and Derek. What if Derek realizes Stiles’s feelings? What if Derek thinks that Stiles only wants him for his dick? That’s most definitely _not_ the case, but Stiles also can’t deny that he has dreamed of sitting on Derek’s knot ever since they met in person.

Which is also why it’s been the longest week. Stiles really, _really_ needs to get fucked into a mattress—like yesterday. As his heat gets closer, Stiles is hard more often than not and the slightest friction on his dick has him cumming. By the time he gets to Derek’s loft, his hands are shaking—whether in anticipation or anxiousness, he’s not quite sure.

Maybe he should have gone over the night before like Derek suggested, but it’s too late now. Stiles is racing the clock as he watches the numbers on the elevator’s display tick up as it climbs to the top floor. There’s a flush to his skin, a light sheen of sweat as his body heats up, and his boxers are already damp with slick.

To keep himself calm and steady—and _not_ launch himself at Derek as soon as he gets to the loft—Stiles recalls all the awkward talks he had during the week.

First was Scott. After hanging up with Derek, Stiles decided that playing video games was the best distraction to clear his mind, so he cleaned himself off and went to Scott’s house. For a few hours, he was able to forget about the situation but then Scott picked up on his mood and got Stiles to spill the beans.

“And you’re okay with this?” Scott asked after listening to Stiles explain what was going on.

Feigning nonchalance, Stiles shrugged. “It’s better than spending heat alone.”

Scott raised an eyebrow and scratched at his crooked jaw. The look on his face was a clear sign that he didn’t believe a word Stiles said. Quite honestly, Stiles didn’t believe it himself.

Even Malia and Lydia called him out on it. Malia got straight to the point when they met up for lunch the next day. “You’re fine with it being just sex?”

Stiles choked on his Bloody Mary, and when she forcefully patted his back, he managed to say one word. “Yup.”

Lydia scoffed and tapped a perfectly manicured nail on the table. “You’re a terrible liar, Stiles.”

The worst though was his dad.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, son, but you have feelings for this boy,” the sheriff said over their weekly dinner a few nights later. Damn him and his stupid perceptiveness but Stiles supposes there’s a reason the man was elected sheriff. As the silence grew—because there was no way Stiles was going to verbally acknowledge that yes, there are feelings involved—the sheriff steepled his fingers under his chin and continued, “Well, then. I think it’s high time I meet him.”

Stiles’s eyes went comically wide and he shook his head vigorously. “No. _Nonononono._ ” But the sheriff stared at him with one brow raised until Stiles sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. “Fine. _If_ we’re still friends after.”

That earned Stiles an incredulous but worried look. “Son, are you _sure_ this is what you wanna do? I can take you to a clinic or cash in some vacation time to check in on you. Hell kid, if you don’t want it to be me, I could have one of the omega deputies drop by.”

“Yeah, dad. I’m sure,” Stiles said in response. Because it’s true even if he was freaking out a little.

Surprisingly, the only time Stiles wasn’t freaking out was when he talked to Derek. He was instantly calmed by how casually Derek talked about his heat. If Stiles wasn’t mistaken, Derek seemed rather eager with his planning, jumping right into asking Stiles about condoms, with a reminder that ‘wolves don’t carry STDs. Considering Stiles has been on birth control since he presented, Stiles was more than happy to let Derek know that they wouldn’t need them.

They also went over a list of dos and don’ts for his heat, to which Stiles not so casually reminded Derek of his desire to be knotted. Derek growled his agreement and skipped right to informing Stiles that he could—and should—wake him if he’s sleeping. It’s nice to have prior consent since he won’t exactly be in the right state of mind to ask at that time, not that Derek couldn’t stop him if he wanted. To which Stiles gave Derek express permission to reciprocate—it’s not like Stiles would turn down sex and wanted to make sure Derek understood that.

Stiles’s eyes went a little wide when Derek asked if he’d be fine for the few moments when Derek stepped away to use the bathroom or shower. That’s something Connor never bothered asking. He shrugged, stating he’d be fine on his own for a few minutes but for Derek not to be surprised if he jumped him as soon as he came back into view.

Derek laughed and moved the conversation along, ensuring that all his projects would be done so they wouldn’t be bothered for the week. Which led to the discussion of where they’d stay—Derek’s loft. Not only because Derek would feel better about his ability to keep Stiles safe and protected there, but also because the loft has easily become somewhere that Stiles considers home.

From there, Derek got really detailed, asking if Stiles wanted special sheets since he has sensitive skin during heats. Derek suggested buying new bedding but Stiles complained that they’d just get ruined. That didn’t matter to Derek who went out and bought ridiculously expensive 100% mulberry silk sheets with a momme weight of 19—whatever that meant.

Derek wouldn’t even be dissuaded from stocking up his pantry with Stiles’s favorite quick snacks when Stiles mentioned being a notoriously picky eater during his heats. Stiles tried to hold out but Derek insisted—and then sent Erica over to get a list.

After that, Stiles’s dreams were filled with images of Derek feeding him strawberries as they waited for his knot to go down. It led to very awkward mornings where he woke up rutting against the mattress and his boxers soaked with slick.

At least, that was the case until this morning.

Yeah, Stiles definitely should have stayed over the night before but he’s stubborn, and he needed the excuse of a heat-addled brain before climbing Derek like a tree.

Thankfully, by the time the elevator reaches the top floor, Stiles’s mind is fogged over by heat. He sprints to Derek’s door because Derek. Alpha. Knot.

Stiles doesn’t even bother knocking, just pulls the handle so hard the wheels slam against the track stoppers, almost causing the door to close from the rebound. The only reason it doesn’t is because he throws a hand out, keeping the door open as he pants and scans the room for Derek.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek says his name low and heated, slurred around fangs, as he stands in the living room. The pillar next to the couch has gouges in it from where Derek visibly holds himself back.

Well, that just won’t do. If Derek won’t come to him, then Stiles will go to Derek. The door slides shut behind him when he enters the loft, and his head spins as Derek’s alpha scent consumes him in a heady haze of pheromones.

God, Stiles has never been this crazed or desperate during heat before, but he wants, and he wants _now_. The heat swallows him whole and he whines, high and reedy—a clear call for his alpha.

Derek takes a step forward, red eyes latched onto Stiles like he’s stalking prey, and Stiles bites his bottom lip to suppress a moan as he feels a gush of slick. Derek’s nostrils flare—likely catching his scent—and growls again. The sound sends a shiver down Stiles’s spine, and he swears he can feel the tension between them finally snap.

Derek lunges forward and as soon as he's close enough, Stiles can’t hold back any longer. His earlier protests of launching himself at Derek are completely forgotten and he jumps. Derek catches him easily, hands settling on his ass as he hooks his legs around Derek’s waist.

Stiles's head falls back against the steel door, inadvertently baring his neck for Derek to devour his skin. A thrill runs through him at the thought of being riddled with Derek’s marks.

With that thought in mind, Stiles moans.

Between Derek’s fangs nipping gently at the crook of his neck and the friction of grinding against Derek’s abs, Stiles’s mouth drops open in a silent cry and he stills. It’s not the shockwave of a climax that he was hoping for, but he’s in heat and he’s sure that nothing is going to satisfy him until he’s sitting on Derek’s knot.

Derek lowers him until his feet touch the ground. He stands on shaky legs but before he can question what’s going on, Derek drops to his knees and nuzzles against Stiles’s groin. His shirt is rucked up and Derek’s hands are on his bare hips, holding him steady. Stiles has been dreaming about those hands and— _Christ!—_ Derek’s fingers are going to be _in_ him soon.

“Oh, shit,” Stiles mutters when Derek laps at his crotch, “Oh, _fuck_.”

It’s so good, but not enough. Not nearly enough.

Stiles whines again. “More. _Please_ ,” he begs, pushing Derek away.

Derek looks up at him with glassy eyes as he nods. His pupils are blown wide, barely a hint of red left. “Should have come earlier. Waited too long,” Derek says stiltedly like it’s hard to speak.

Stiles clutches at Derek's shoulders as Derek lifts him. Derek’s hands settle on his ass and it makes his dick jump as lust spikes through his body. Dammit, he should have taken his pants off. Derek’s fingers could be inside him right now!

“Need you,” Stiles says, rolling his hips to get friction again.

“Gotta knot you,” Derek growls the promise into Stiles’s ear. “Can’t wait any longer.”

“W-why?” Stiles breathes out.

Still unable to form a complete sentence, Derek grunts, “Rut.”

Stiles’s head is cleared the _tiniest_ bit after his orgasm, and he scrunches his face in confusion as the word rut rattles around in his mind. Derek’s in rut? Then realization dawns on him.

_Of course. It all makes sense now._

This is why Derek offered to help him through his heat, and if Stiles weren’t so fucking horny, he’d probably be sad right now.

For being devolved to practically a caveman, Derek is surprisingly gentle when he lays Stiles on the center of the bed. The sheets are so soft and silky. Damn Derek and his stupidly expensive bed sheets. How the hell is Stiles supposed to live with whatever cheap shit he bought at Wal-Mart?

All thoughts of linens fly out of Stiles’s head when Derek paws at his jeans. Stiles throws his head back and laughs at the manhandling as Derek growls his way through getting the offending article off. It disappears somewhere off the side of the bed, forgotten as they stare at each other.

Biting his bottom lip, Stiles hooks his thumb under the waistband of his boxers, and Derek growls. Stiles shudders in anticipation and slides them down until Derek grabs them, throwing them over his shoulder. They land on the floor with a _splat_ and normally Stiles would be embarrassed by the amount of slick he’s producing, but all that means is he’s more than ready for Derek to take, and use, and fuck him senseless.

Except that’s not what Derek does. Stiles doesn’t get a chance to flip around and present his ass before Derek crawls over him to suck him all the way down. Stiles’s eyes roll to the back of his head as the sudden feeling of tight heat and tongue on his dick makes him buck up into Derek’s mouth with a shout.

_Jesus Christ!_ He still has his fucking shirt on!

Stiles doesn’t have time to feel ridiculous about it because Derek swallows around him, and it’s taking every ounce of concentration not to cum again. One hand is fisted in the sheets while the other rakes through Derek’s hair, holding on for dear life. His eyes flutter shut because looking at Derek will send him over the edge and holy shit this needs to last. Stiles wants this to last forever.

_“Yes! Please! Fuck! D-don’t stop!_ ”

Derek takes him right to the edge and lets him go with an obscene pop, lips red and swollen. Stiles thinks he’s been given a reprieve but then Derek lifts him, bending his legs back and exposing his ass. The position is slightly uncomfortable but it’s all forgotten when Derek rubs a finger on his rim, pressing lightly until he’s a mewling, quivering mess.

“ _Please. Pleasepleaseplease_.”

There’s a warm breath ghosting over his ass followed by strong, slow sweeps of a tongue over his hole.

“Tastes so good,” Derek murmurs against him like he’s unwilling to pull away for even a second. “Wanted to do this for so long.”

Derek— _dear God!_ —knows exactly what he’s doing and Stiles is jealous of anyone who’s ever gotten to experience this. Especially with how Derek still works him open, adding a second and third finger, even though Stiles insists he’s ready.

_God, what his hole must look like stretched around Derek’s fingers and tongue._

But it’s still not enough.

Stiles blows out a ragged breath as his back arches off the bed when Derek rubs over that special bundle of nerves. He can’t help the jumble of words that spill out of his mouth as pleasure courses through him. It’s like a coil snaps, and he cries out. The warmth of his release spreads over his stomach and he collapses against the mattress, twitching in the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Definitely better than the first— _so fucking good!_ —but still not what he needs.

“Derek. Derek, please. Want you to fuck me so bad. Wanted you for so long. Dream about your dick,” he babbles, swatting blindly at Derek in hopes of getting him to climb further up the mattress.

Instead, Derek climbs off the bed and Stiles makes a pitiful sound. But then Derek is stripping and Stiles remembers that he still has a shirt on, and that is absolutely not okay. There should be no clothes on either of them because Stiles wants as much of his skin to touch as much of Derek’s as possible.

Fuck. He needs Derek to fuck him soon because he’s not making sense anymore.

As soon as his shirt is over his head, Stiles stares at Derek’s chest. Like really stares in a way he hasn’t gotten to before—mostly because he would have felt guilty for ogling Derek. But with the excuse of being in heat, Stiles takes his time to appreciate Derek’s body.

The cords of muscle on Derek’s shoulders and arms shift with every movement, making Stiles want to nibble on them. He also wants to run his fingers through the coarse hair on Derek’s chest, across Derek’s stomach, and through the patch of hair just below his navel.

Stiles’s eyes follow the happy trail down, but Derek turns around to throw their clothes towards the bathroom—it’s good to know that even with Derek being in rut, he has enough sense to be tidy. Besides, it gives him a great view of his back, ass, and thighs.

_God, how he wants those thighs to crush him._

When Derek faces him again, Stiles’s mouth goes dry.

Derek’s dick is...big. Sure, Derek’s an alpha but holy fucking shit his dick is _huge_ , and Stiles can’t seem to drag his eyes away from it.

Stiles pouts because there’s no way it’s going to fit.

Derek crawls back on the bed wearing an amused but feral grin. “Don’t worry little omega. We were made for each other. It’ll fit.”

_Oh shit._ Stiles hadn’t meant to say that out loud. _Stupid lack of brain-to-mouth filter._

Before he can feel embarrassed, Derek is hovering over him, and Stiles can feel the heat pouring off of Derek’s body.

The kiss is unexpected. Stiles sucks in a breath at the sweet and gentle pressure, parting his lips in invitation. He melts into it and cards his fingers through Derek’s hair, as the kiss becomes rougher and more demanding.

Stiles trembles as Derek’s hands trail over his body, sliding down his sides and to his hips and thighs until his legs are spread. Derek settles between them and cups Stiles’s ass, lifting him slightly before breaking the kiss and pulling away.

Derek’s fingers are at his ass again, gathering slick on his fingers then running them over that massive dick to get it wet.

“Are you ready?” Derek asks breathlessly, lining himself up.

Stiles seems to have lost the ability to speak because all he can do is nod. He bites his bottom lip and tries not to tense when he feels the head of Derek’s dick against his hole.

One of Stiles’s hands slams against the headboard while the other grips Derek’s arm as Derek slowly pushes in. The stretch and burn give way to how perfectly filled Stiles feels, and he can’t restrain the loud moan that escapes him when Derek is fully seated. His hole probably looks fucking obscene stretched around Derek’s monster dick.

Would it be wrong to ask Derek to take a picture? Probably, and it’s easily forgotten when Derek begins moving.

It’s not just the slow, relentless thrusts that leave Stiles begging for more. No, that would be too easy, too kind of Derek. Instead, Derek reduces him to a whimpering mess with slow, satisfying _deep_ thrusts, and this is better than anything he’s ever felt before.

He wants—no, _needs_ more of this.

The bed creaks as they rock in perfect rhythm and Stiles mindlessly murmurs his pleasure.

_Yes._

_More._

_Fuck._

Derek growls with each thrust, repeating the same word over and over again. “Mine.”

“Yours,” he assures Derek, gripping his shoulders. “Only yours. My alpha.”

“Mine.”

“ _Yoursyoursyours_ ,” Stiles cries as he digs his feet into the firm, muscular globes of Derek’s ass.

Stiles’s legs clench around Derek’s waist as his orgasm crashes over him, causing his dick to pulse rhythmically between them.

Derek kisses him again, hot and insistent. Stiles can’t help but moan into Derek's mouth when his hole stretches even more as Derek’s knot swells. It catches on his rim a few times before Derek can no longer pull out.

Derek grinds forcefully until Stiles is crying out Derek’s name and cumming once again. It’s everything he ever wanted and more than he ever dreamed of at the same time. So good, so perfect, and he feels amazing—panting hard and completely out of breath while his whole body tingles with pleasure.

“Mine,” Derek says again, collapsing on Stiles’s chest.

_I’m all yours_.

Stiles wishes he could say it out loud again but he can’t. Won’t. It would be admitting way too much now that his mind is clear.

It’s only a couple of minutes before Stiles starts squirming. The position is slightly uncomfortable, but he mostly needs to move. He’s never been one to sit still for too long.

Derek pushes up on one elbow and looks down at him. “You okay? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Stiles says. “H-how long until your knot goes down?”

“Does it hurt?” Derek asks, voice laced with concern. “Is it too much?”

“No. Feels good. Feel full.” Stiles blushes when Derek pushes up to look down between them. He’s a mess right now, sticky and sweaty. He clenches automatically as he pictures his hole stretched over Derek’s knot. It sends a shiver down his spine.

Derek makes a pained sound and grabs Stiles’s hips to still him. “Keep doing that and it won’t go down any time soon.”

“How long?” Stiles asks again, fidgeting this time.

“Not sure. Shouldn’t be too long.”

Stiles props himself up on his elbows and scrunches his face. “Wait,” he says skeptically. How come Derek doesn’t know? There’s no way that Derek’s never knotted someone. Why wouldn’t he? When Scott popped his first knot after being bitten, he made it sound like the best thing ever—that sex was so much better because of it. “You don’t know?”

Derek tilts his head in clear confusion though Stiles doesn’t know why. “Of course not.”

Stiles has questions, lots of questions, but his mind goes blank as soon as Derek pushes him back down and litters kisses all over his body. Each one is pressed into his skin like a promise and punctuated with words of praise that makes Stiles preen.

_So perfect, Stiles. Look so good on my knot. Made for it. Made for_ me.

_My beautiful omega._

_So lucky to have you, Stiles._

Stiles has never had anyone take such tender care of him, but there’s a voice in the back of his mind reminding him that Derek’s going through rut. Derek’s only doing this because of an instinctive need to care for an omega in heat.

Thankfully, Derek’s voice is louder, and Stiles sticks a metaphorical middle finger up at the voice in his head. He allows himself to live in this moment where it’s just them, knowing that Derek will take care of him and protect him.

When Derek’s knot finally slips free, Stiles is floating—light and happy. He gives Derek a lazy smile when he leans over and gives him a soft kiss.

“I’ll be right back,” Derek says before pulling away. “Gonna get the bath ready. Want a snack before I go?”

Stiles should probably say yes, but all he wants to do is curl in a ball and sleep. “M’okay. But after tomorrow, you’ll have to make sure I eat no matter what I say.”

Derek stops in his tracks, looking serious. “I will. I’ll make sure you eat and stay hydrated. I promise, Stiles.”

“I know you will. I trust you,” Stiles says with a sleepy, dopey grin. “Best alpha.”

Stiles curls around his pillow and closes his eyes. It doesn’t seem like much time has passed before the bed dips behind him and Derek is gathering him into his arms, carrying him to the bathroom. The room is lit by the soft glow of candles laid across the counter and shelves; it smells sweet like caramel and vanilla.

Derek leans over the tub to set him in the warm water. It’s perfect, and he moans his appreciation as he sinks into it.

“Smells good,” Stiles says as he sweeps a hand through the water to scoop bubbles over his chest. When Derek whines, he looks up. “Derek?”

“It’s you,” Derek says quietly. There’s a blush on his cheeks, and he looks sheepish. “It’s what you smell like to me.”

Stiles’s mouth parts on a soft gasp, and it turns quiet for a moment. He has no idea what to do with that information. It makes him feel warm and fuzzy for some reason. “So you like it? The way I smell?”

Derek steps in the tub, making Stiles scoot up a bit, and hums his agreement. “Especially now.”

Leaning back against Derek, Stiles closes his eyes and sighs. “Oh yeah? Why’s that, big guy?”

Derek nips his ear before answering. “Smell like me. Like mine.”

Stiles’s moan is loud in the small room as Derek sucks a mark just below his ear. “P-pretty sure the bath is for getting clean, Derek.”

Derek huffs a breath, twining their fingers together before sliding down Stiles’s stomach and wrapping around his dick. “Think you could go again? Love the sounds you make.”

Stiles bites his bottom lip and nods.

“Oh, _fuck!_ ” he exclaims as Derek’s other hand slips between his legs and presses two fingers inside him.

“God, look at you, Stiles. So beautiful. And you took my knot so good, baby. Can’t wait to knot you again. Keep you stuffed full of my cum.”

Stiles is a blubbering mess, whimpering with every stroke. “Want it. Want you.”

“You have me. You’ve always had me, Stiles.” Derek’s words leave him shaking.

The water sloshes in the tub as Stiles thrusts up into their joined hands and rocks down onto Derek’s fingers, chasing his own pleasure. There’s something intimate about having Derek’s hand covering his and controlling the strength of his grip, setting a pace that has Stiles screaming Derek’s name like it’s the only word he can remember.

Derek alternates between nipping at his ear, biting down the side of his neck, and sucking possessive marks on his shoulder like he’s staking a claim on Stiles’s wanton, willing body. His growls grow louder and fiercer with every cry of his name.

“Come on, Stiles. Cum for me,” he demands and circles his calloused thumb over the sensitive head of Stiles’s dick. Sparks fly behind Stiles’s eyes, and the friction is so sweet yet almost unbearable that Stiles is unable to do anything but comply.

“So good for me,” Derek says as he kisses Stiles’s temple.

Stiles preens at the praise and tries to speak but the most he manages is a growly sort of hum. It’s so hard to keep his eyes open now; all he wants is to sleep, but he can feel the hard press of Derek’s dick against his back. “What ‘bout you, Der?”

Derek’s lips move against his temple as he murmurs, “I’m okay. I’ll take care of it, just rest. It’s okay. Let go and relax.”

“Mmm… Best alpha.” When Derek does that sort of pleased rumble-purr, Stiles relaxes. He smiles when a soft terry washcloth is rubbed over his sensitive skin.

All too soon, Stiles is being lifted from the tub and set to lean against the sink. As Stiles is dried off, he helps as much as he can when Derek maneuvers him—even when Derek tries to get him into clothes. Usually, he doesn’t wear anything during his heat, but the oversized shirt is well-worn, soft, and smells like Derek. It sends a thrill through him when he looks over his shoulder and sees the name Hale written across the back like Derek is staking his claim.

Derek whines, eyes flashing red as he steps close and inhales. “Mmm… Smell like me. Like us. My omega,” he mutters, pressing his face into the crook of Stiles’s neck.

Stiles loops an arm around Derek’s neck and smiles. “Yeah, Derek. Yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you don't think that's the end of heat week 😏 it ran a little long so i split it into two chapters! more smut next week!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who's ready for the rest of heat week?????

What follows is a week-long marathon of the best sex Stiles has ever had. Part of him feels bad because there’s no way Derek will be able to get the scent of sex out of the loft anytime soon, but they’re mindful to keep all their proclivities downstairs. Most of that is due to the fact that Stiles doesn’t let Derek get more than two steps away before chasing after him and begging for his knot.

This is definitely the strongest heat he’s ever experienced. Neither of them bother wearing clothes anymore because what’s the point when they end up in tatters due to their impatience at properly undressing.

It’s an odd desperation that he’s never felt, but being tied to Derek and filled in the most delicious way is something he didn’t realize he’d been craving. And when that feeling comes over him, Stiles doesn’t care where they are or what they’re doing. He begs and pleads until Derek can’t help himself.

Stiles throws himself over the dining room table in an attempt to get Derek to fuck him against every surface available. He’ll never look at the rustic walnut slab the same way ever again. Every meal there will remind him of being bent across the dark wood and Derek’s white-knuckled grip as their gasps and moans fill the loft.

He’s pushed against the windows and columns in the living room as Derek drives into him from behind, gripping his hips hard enough to leave bruises. Sweet, wonderful bruises that Stiles will touch. The ache will send a shiver of pleasure through him as he remembers Derek’s fingers digging into his skin.

The only issue is when Derek’s knot swells and Stiles’s legs are like jelly from standing on his tiptoes, and he can no longer hold himself up. It’s definitely not comfortable for either of them when Derek’s knot tugs painfully, which leads to an awkward walk where Derek carries him—legs splayed with all of his junk on display—over to the bed.

* * *

The best moments are when Stiles is completely satiated but Derek is so lost to his rut that all Stiles can do is lie there and take it. Stars explode behind Stiles’s eyes as Derek’s hips stutter in jerky movements, filling him with cum until his stomach swells with it.

“Mine. My omega,” Derek whispers. “My Stiles. Perfect omega.”

Stiles can’t help the happy, contented noise that bubbles out of his throat, his omega ecstatic that their alpha is claiming them. As much as Stiles knows he’ll probably regret it later, he closes his eyes and lets himself believe that he really does belong to Derek. “You’re so good for me, Derek. The best. My alpha,” he whispers.

Derek whines into his neck and Stiles shushes him.

“'M sorry,” Derek slurs around his fangs.

Stiles tilts his head down, looking at Derek in confusion. “For what?”

“Need to mark you, Stiles.”

Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. Stiles has no qualms about that at all. In fact, he loves looking in the mirror and seeing each love bite on his skin. Stiles hums his approval as he scratches lightly at the nape of Derek’s neck. “Go ‘head, big guy. Let everyone know I’m yours.”

Derek clutches at him, sucking a mark high on his neck, and Stiles keens. His dick jumps, trying to get hard again, but they’re both exhausted. When Derek collapses on his chest, Stiles rubs one hand down his back while the other scratches lightly at the nape of Derek’s neck again.

“Yours, Stiles. ‘M yours, too,” Derek mumbles.

Stiles’s breath hitches. There’s meaning behind those words, something Stiles can’t even begin to comprehend. Alphas aren’t built to be vulnerable. The only times he’s seen it are when his dad submitted to his mom, and when Scott submits to Allison.

Derek starts snoring, and it snaps him from his thoughts. He kisses the top of Derek’s head, whispering, “My alpha.”

He should probably sleep now, too, before his heat comes again but he just wants to lie there and hold Derek, imagining everything he said is real and true.

* * *

Stiles makes being fed entirely too difficult by constantly shoving food away while sitting on Derek’s knot. In the far recesses of his mind, Stiles knows he needs to eat and drink, but food is the last thing on his mind right now. Derek’s knot fills him so well, and all he wants to do is clench down and grind. The more he does it, the longer he’ll have Derek’s knot in his ass.

Derek tries to reason with Stiles, reminding him that he’d made Derek promise to keep him fed and hydrated, but Stiles is too far gone and shakes his head as he keeps rolling his hips. Derek forces him to eat, even going so far as pretending to kiss him and quickly shoving a slice of strawberry in Stiles’s mouth when he leans forward.

Stiles pouts but chews and when Derek praises him, he smiles brightly.

In his more lucid moments, he can hear Derek plead, “Stiles, baby, I need you to eat something. Can you do that for me?”

Wanting to be a good omega and craving the praise, Stiles opens his mouth wide and makes happy little noises as he eats everything Derek gives him—protein bars, water, strawberries.

“There’s my sweet omega,” Derek says, and Stiles preens at pleasing his alpha. But Stiles is still a little shit and licks the juice that drips down the side of Derek’s hand.

* * *

Derek backs him up against the wall in the dining room and pins his arms above his head. Stiles’s eyes go wide when Derek’s other hand slides down his side and hooks under his thigh. Derek raises a brow in question, and Stiles gets with the program, wrapping his legs around Derek’s waist.

“ _Oh, fuck, yes_ ,” he hisses, marveling at Derek’s strength. There’s something about knowing that Derek could keep him from escaping—even though Derek wouldn’t—that makes it all sweeter.

Derek looks so fucking good pounding into him—the way his muscles shift and bunch with every thrust—but the brick wall is too hard and rough against his back. It doesn’t stop him from crying out in pleasure as he cums completely untouched.

The only sad part is that Derek pulls out before his knot swells.

_Nonononono. Come back!_ Stiles wants to whine, but Derek spins him around to kiss and lick at the scratches on his back.

“Patience, little omega,” Derek practically purrs.

Stiles wants to question why Derek’s licking him but his mouth drops open in a soft gasp—and his legs part instinctively—as Derek goes lower and lower, spreading his cheeks to hold his ass open. His whole body is taut in anticipation and when Derek’s tongue flicks over his hole, Stiles muffles his moan as Derek’s magical tongue brings him to orgasm yet again.

“Good omega,” Derek says, kissing the small of his back. “So perfect for me. So good, Stiles.”

As Stiles leans against the wall, panting harshly into the crook of his elbow, he soon feels warm liquid spatter across his back as Derek jacks off behind him. It’s not at all surprising when Derek rubs it into his skin, marking him in this most intimate way.

Regardless of the thrill it sends down Stiles’s spine at the possessive display, it’s definitely not the most comfortable.

* * *

As they shower, Stiles is shameless when he writhes against Derek’s body begging for his knot. “Please. Please, Der.”

“Stiles, I’m trying to get you clean,” Derek says as if cleanliness is anywhere in the vicinity of importance to Stiles right now. It hasn’t been the entire time, considering they’re showering because every time they try to take a bath, Stiles tries to sit on his knot. But it’s too much of a mess with the way the water splashes over the sides of the tub, so a shower it is.

The water cascades over them and Stiles licks a stripe up the side of Derek’s neck before turning to lean against the tile wall. He pushes his ass out enticingly while he begs, “ _Alpha…_ ”

Derek’s growl reverberates off the walls, making Stiles shiver in pleasure. It could also be because Derek’s dick is finally sliding into him. Soon the small room is filled with slapping sounds as Derek begins thrusting frantically.

It’s not as easy as the movies make it out to be and the bathroom tiles don’t survive Derek’s claws when Stiles slips. One of Derek’s arms wraps protectively around Stiles’s middle, while the other reaches out and gouges holes into the ceramic in an attempt to keep them upright.

When Derek whines, Stiles looks over his shoulder in concern. “What’s wrong?”

The hand that was around his waist lets go and there’s blood on the tips of Derek’s fingers. _Oh_. Stiles hadn’t realized that Derek nicked him.

“I’m okay, Derek,” he answers honestly. “I’m fine.”

Derek kneels and places gentle kisses over each pinprick before licking them like he did when Stiles scratched his back during wall sex. It was curious then and it’s certainly curious now. “What are you doing?”

“It’ll help them heal faster,” Derek says matter-of-factly.

Stiles doesn’t have a chance to ask more questions before Derek is shutting off the water and hauling him out of the shower, caveman style. It’s so brutish and carnal and makes him shiver in anticipation because he’s still really fucking horny.

As soon as they’re in bed, Derek pushes Stiles to his back. Stiles instinctively spreads his legs, lifting one and resting it on Derek’s chest while the other falls to the side as Derek enters him.

He grips Derek’s arms and cries out with every thrust.

_Derek._

_Harder._

_Right there._

They were both already close during the shower, so it’s not long before Derek’s knot swells. Stiles feels the warmth of his own release on his stomach and he keens when Derek wraps his dick in a tight fist, trying to keep him hard. It’s almost a game for Derek to see how many times Stiles can come on his knot. The most they’ve gotten is three because Stiles can’t keep his eyes open long enough for more.

* * *

Derek isn’t moving fast enough for Stiles so he crawls onto the center of the bed, shoves his face into the mattress and sticks his ass in the air, wiggling it enticingly.

Stiles begs, pleading for Derek to take and use him.

Derek’s voice is hoarse as he directs Stiles how he wants. “Hands and knees. Legs spread.”

There’s a low growl and Stiles looks back, smirking when Derek’s eyes flash red. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Derek’s in rut because of how gentle and careful he is. Until moments like this when Derek finally lets go.

Derek pushes Stiles’s shoulders down, pinning him to the mattress as he snaps his hips.

_Oh, fuck_.

Stiles feels the sweat from Derek’s forehead drip down onto his back as Derek nips at his shoulder before pushing away.

“ _Stiles_.” Derek’s voice is low and rough, chanting his name like it’s a prayer that Stiles answers by pushing back as much as he can. The warmth from Derek’s hands leave his body and there’s a _rip_ to his right where one of Derek’s hands is fisted in the sheets, shredding them with his claws.

Derek snarls, and Stiles hears a crack above him but nothing matters when Derek’s knot swells in that most delicious way. And when Derek fully presses against him to lick and suck on his neck, Stiles becomes a mewling mess and feels the warmth of his release spill beneath him.

When Derek gathers him close to lie on their sides, Stiles looks up and sees a piece of the headboard snapped off. They— _Derek!_ —broke the fucking bed.

Stiles snorts and then moans because the movement makes Derek’s knot tug on his rim. He rolls his hips, coaxing another smaller orgasm from Derek. Eventually, he falls asleep with Derek still buried deep inside him.

* * *

It’s a rare moment where neither of them are affected by heat or rut; though Derek still takes care to feed Stiles in bed before they make their way to the living room to watch TV. With Stiles curled up on the couch, Derek sits on the armchair.

Derek puts on _The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills_ , and Stiles’s heart clenches. He can’t believe that Derek remembered what he likes to watch while in heat. It really shouldn’t surprise him though—Derek always remembers.

They make it through one episode before Stiles starts to get warm again. He tries to ignore it, wanting to hold out just a bit longer and give them both a reprieve.

Stiles grabs the remote and changes the TV to _Cutthroat Kitchen_ , but before he can even find the show, he subconsciously starts rolling his hips to get friction on his rapidly hardening dick.

His ass starts leaking slick and then there’s a low growl followed by a ripping sound. When Stiles looks up, Derek’s claws are digging into the armrests like he’s holding himself back, and that just won’t do.

The remote clatters on the ground when Stiles slips off the couch. It’s completely forgotten as he crawls over to Derek and rubs his cheek up Derek’s legs and thighs, nuzzling against his crotch before rising to straddle him. He sits on Derek’s lap and wiggles until Derek grips his hips. They stare at each other for a moment before Stiles cards his fingers through Derek’s hair.

One thing they haven’t really done since that first night is kiss, so Stiles leans forward and brushes their lips together. Derek sucks on his bottom lip. Stiles’s toes curl at the firm, searing kiss that takes his breath away.

Stiles rises to his knees. There’s a flush on Derek’s chest, and from the way his eyes bleed red, Stiles can tell Derek is on the edge of losing control. He digs his fingers into Derek’s shoulders as he sinks down on his dick, starting slow until Derek takes over. The rhythm is punishing and causes Stiles’s thighs to quake, trying to keep up with him. The sound of Derek’s hips slamming into him are muted by Stiles’s moans.

_Derek. Harder. Right there!_

_Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!_

_Yesyesyesyesyes!_

When Derek’s knot swells, it’s like a coil snaps, and Stiles’s dick pulses between them, spilling his release across Derek’s stomach and chest. And since Stiles can’t leave _physical_ marks on Derek’s skin because of werewolf healing, Stiles rubs his cum into all that soft smooth skin.

Stiles bites his bottom lip when Derek growls, and he leans forward to kiss him again—this time soft and tentative. After a few minutes, Stiles pulls away and sighs. He pouts at the rips in the armchair, but Derek promises that it can be fixed.

* * *

Stiles wakes to the smell of bacon frying. It’s sweet how Derek thinks Stiles cares at all about a home-cooked meal when all he wants is Derek’s knot.

“Just a couple more minutes,” Derek calls out from the kitchen.

But Stiles is impatient and practically launches himself at Derek, almost burning himself in the process. Derek manages to pry him away, but all Stiles does is splay himself over the kitchen island, spreading his legs wantonly.

“Fuck me. Knot me. _Please_ ,” he begs. He slides two fingers over his rim, spreading the slick before pressing them in and arching his back off the counter. “Need you, Derek. _My alpha_.”

Apparently, that’s the magic word because Derek steps between his legs and slams into him with a grunt. “Mine. My omega. Mine.”

Stiles strokes his dick in time with Derek’s thrusts. His lips are red and swollen from biting back moans, but Derek reaches out and grasps his chin until Stiles looks at him. “ _Wha?_ ”

“Wanna hear you.”

Licking his lips, Stiles’s tongue swirls around the tip of Derek’s thumb, making Derek throw his head back. “ _Fuck!_ ”

Derek’s pace falters, and Stiles pops his head up when he hears a loud _clang_. The oven door hangs off its hinges—Stiles throws his head back to laugh.

“Did you really just—”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek grits out, still pounding into him and Stiles lets out a lewd moan when Derek’s knot swells.

The feeling of euphoria doesn’t last long because smoke billows behind Derek and Stiles swats at his chest even as he feels the warmth of his release on his stomach. “Derek! Derek!”

Derek doesn’t notice that the bacon frying on the stove is on fire until Stiles’s eyes go wide. Maneuvering around the kitchen while tied together isn’t the easiest thing. But there’s a fire extinguisher nearby so disaster is averted.

Stiles’s ass hangs off the edge of the counter as Derek pants against his chest. The mood is somber; he can only imagine what’s going through Derek’s head after seeing the stove go up in flames, knowing a fire is how Derek’s family was killed.

“It’s okay, Derek. It’s okay,” Stiles says reassuringly, rubbing a hand down Derek’s back as his knot goes down. Derek shakes in his arms, and Stiles holds him even tighter. “We’re okay, Derek.”

Stiles speaks words of comfort. He speaks from experience and understands how hard it is to lose loved ones. He also praises Derek for being such a good alpha, reminding Derek how good he is both to him and to the pack—how lucky they are to have him.

“I’m the lucky one,” Derek whispers hoarsely, seemingly calm again. He nuzzles into the crook of Stiles’s neck and asks, “Can we go back to bed?”

Stiles nods and tries to slide off the counter, but Derek keeps a tight hold on him. He should have known better than to think Derek would let him go after what happened, so he wraps his legs securely around Derek’s waist as he’s carried back to bed.

* * *

It’s all light and fun for the most part—loving and tender moments with Stiles on his back while they stare at each other. It almost seems like Derek’s making love to him when he cradles Stiles’s face and peppers kisses all over him while he rolls his hips slowly—taking Stiles apart inch by inch. Stiles clutches at Derek, holding him close as they rock in unison. It’s all soft gasps and panting as their lips barely touch. Derek scrapes over nerve endings that Stiles wasn't even aware he had, and it leaves him trembling.

Much like the first night, Stiles wakes to find Derek missing from bed. It leaves him in a state of panic as he looks around the room, finally yelling for him when it’s clear Derek isn’t nearby. “Derek? Derek!”

The bathroom door flies open, and Derek appears, wild-eyed and hair disheveled. “Stiles!” His claws are out, and his fangs are bared as his red eyes scanned the room for a threat. When Derek sees nothing, because there is nothing, his gaze snaps to the bed. “Stiles?”

“You were gone,” Stiles whines, holding his arms open. He feels a little ridiculous for thinking that Derek had left, of course Derek wouldn’t leave.

_Stupid._

Stiles isn’t normally so emotional. He tries to suppress his omega nature, but during heat, his hormones go crazy.

Derek rushes over and pulls Stiles into his arms. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry. I just woke up and you were gone, and—” He’s never been so dependent on another person, but Derek’s made it so easy to just let his guard down—to open his heart again and completely trust in him.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I told you I’d be fine and then I freaked out.” Stiles hides his face in his hands. As much as he doesn’t want to bring up his ex, Derek deserves some sort of explanation even if Stiles doesn’t understand it himself. “It was never like this w-with Connor.”

“Of course it’s different,” Derek says quietly, brushing Stiles’s hair back until Stiles is looking up at him. “You’re mine and I’m yours. _My_ omega.”

Stiles sighs and nods, leaning into Derek’s palm when he cups his cheek.

“So how ‘bout this?” Derek starts, pushing him back into the pillows. “I’ll keep the door open next time. Okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles says happily, beaming brightly. The fact that Derek would go out of his way like that to appease him makes him feel loved and cared for. Derek peppers kisses all over his face and neck until Stiles pushes him away, giggling. “Down boy.”

Derek growls playfully, and they spend the rest of the night in bed with Derek’s arms wrapped securely around him.

* * *

It’s the most amazing week, and not just because of the sex.

At first, Stiles worries about being too tactile, that he’ll get on Derek’s nerves. But, if anything, Derek is even more clingy—always holding him. Derek often opts to carry Stiles around the loft, rubbing soothing circles onto his back and pressing soft kisses to his temple. Stiles loves tucking his head into the crook of Derek’s neck to nuzzle him, earning him that rumble-purr he loves so much.

Sometimes, the mere thought of not touching Derek or being wrapped in his arms protectively seems impossible, like asking him not to breathe. It’s concerning to say the least. After all, Stiles has never felt this strong of a pull to anyone before, but that feeling is easily replaced by a sense of calm and rightness as they move—completely in sync—never straying too far from each other’s gentle touches and passionate kisses.

So naturally, the week ends disastrously.

When Stiles wakes, he knows his heat is over. It sucks, and it’s sad, but he’s still floating on the endorphins from the best sex of his life. There’s not much he can do to thank Derek, but he figures breakfast in bed might do as a start. So as carefully as he can, Stiles slips out of bed and pulls on Derek’s oversized shirt and a pair of boxers.

He’s dancing in the kitchen, plating up their crepes when Derek comes up behind him and kisses the back of his neck. Not expecting it, Stiles startles, and when he nervously scratches at his cheek, gets whipped cream on himself.

“Shit, Derek. You scared me, dude.”

Derek laughs and swipes the whipped cream off Stiles’s cheek, licking his finger clean.

Stiles sputters because Derek’s rut ended the other day, and it should be pretty clear that Stiles isn’t in heat anymore, so there’s no reason for Derek to still act like this.

But looking at Derek’s bright smile, Stiles’s heart flips in his chest. It’s a startling realization to admit how badly he wants this—waking up together, making breakfast, along with all the cuddles and sweet kisses.

_Oh, shit._

The silence is loud and deafening as realization dawns on him. He’s in love with Derek.

Stiles is the absolute worst friend in the world. How could he go and fall in love with Derek? Derek, who deserves nothing but the best, not the mess that Stiles is. Derek, who has a mate out there, someone that he’s _meant_ to be with—someone _not_ Stiles.

His heart beats rapidly causing Derek to look at him in concern. “Stiles? What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Stiles steps back, putting some space between them as he tries to come up with something, anything, to explain his panic—anything but the truth, that is.

God, he’ll miss being tucked into Derek’s side; he’ll miss Derek’s hands running up and down his back as he sits on his lap. But he has to put a stop to this, it isn’t fair to Derek who was just helping a friend out in their time of need.

Okay, that’s not entirely true. Clearly there’s _something_ there with how easily Derek came up behind him and kissed the back of his neck. Friends don’t do things like that. Or maybe Derek’s still affected by the lingering pheromones of Stiles’s heat, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because Derek has a mate.

“I just— I—” Stiles takes a deep breath and pushes the plate of food towards Derek. “I wanted to thank you for this week. It was— It was great. It was really...great.”

“If you say great one more time, I might start thinking it wasn’t,” Derek says skeptically.

“No! No, it was— I...” Stiles laughs nervously and scratches the back of his neck. “Derek, it was wonderful. I’ve never had anyone take care of me like that. You kind of set the bar pretty high. Not sure the next guy’s gonna be able to compete.”

“Next guy?” Derek takes a step forward, but Stiles moves away—too afraid to let Derek close. “Stiles, what’s going on?”

“I should go.”

Stiles feels bad because it’s so reminiscent of the last time he ran out of the loft, along with the pained look on Derek’s face. Stiles ignores it as best he can as he flies through the loft to get his wallet, phone, keys, and shoes. Everything else can wait—he just needs to leave now.

“Stiles, wait.” Derek blocks Stiles’s path to the door and pulls him into a warm embrace. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

Stiles starts relaxing as soon as Derek rumble-purrs but then there’s a kiss pressed to his temple and _no!_ Absolutely not! Stiles pulls away, shaking his head. “You didn’t— I just, I need to go home. _Please?_ I promise I’ll call you later, just please let me go.”

Derek’s face is pulled down in a frown, laced with worry and concern. “If I did something…”

“You didn’t,” Stiles says assuringly. There’s no way he can leave if Derek thinks he did something wrong, so he blows out a breath and tries to explain as best he can without admitting the truth. “I’m just a little overwhelmed right now. I’m sorry. It’s not usually like this, but...this week has been intense. I promise it’s not you. I just need a minute to clear my head.”

Derek still looks skeptical, but he nods and steps to the side. “You’ll call me? _Please._ I need to know you’re all right.”

As Stiles passes, something comes over him, and he steps up close to Derek and kisses his cheek, right at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll call later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stupid boys are stupid 🤷♀️


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who's ready for stupid boys to not be so stupid??? 🙋♀️

Curled around his pillow, Stiles stares at his phone. It’s been hours since he got home, and he still hasn’t called Derek as promised. In fact, he hasn’t been able to do anything other than mope since falling face-first into bed.

But how is he supposed to hear Derek’s voice and not want to be wrapped in his arms? Is he just supposed to forget how well they fit together when they slept? Or how they gravitate toward each other without thinking? How is he supposed to continue their friendship without ruining everything? It seems impossible.

Especially knowing that one day, Derek will find his mate, and Stiles will have to watch him fall in love with someone else.

All Stiles wants to do is ignore all his problems until they go away, but there’s no way Derek will let that happen—not when he knows something is wrong. Honestly, Stiles is surprised that there haven’t been any calls or messages, but all that means is if Stiles doesn’t respond soon, Derek will stop by—and that is absolutely the last thing he needs right now.

What he needs is time. Will Stiles use it as an opportunity to avoid Derek? Yes. Is it a completely shitty thing to do? Absolutely, but there’s no way he can be around Derek right now. With a heavy sigh, Stiles opens up Derek’s contact information and shoots out a quick text.

_Hey. Sorry about earlier. I know you’re probably worried but I promise I’m okay. I just got really overwhelmed and need some time to clear my head. We’ll talk soon._

Barely a second later, he gets a response. It makes his heart clench knowing that Derek’s probably been waiting for his call this entire time.

_Derek: Okay. I’ll be here when you’re ready._

Ready comes two days later just as Stiles is putting a new tray of oatmeal raisin cookies into the oven at the bakery before the lunchtime rush. The bell over the door rings, signaling the arrival of a customer.

“Be with you in a sec!” Stiles calls out as he sets the timer.

“Take your time,” he hears.

Wiping his hands off on his apron, Stiles backs out of the kitchen and plasters a smile on his face. “All right. What can I get ya?”

“Actually, could you tell me if you have anything gluten-free?”

“Of course. They’re right over—” Stiles finally looks up, and his heart stops. At first glance, the guy looks like Derek—same height, hair color, strong jaw, and chiseled cheekbones—but it’s not him. Yes, this guy has hazel eyes, but they don’t sparkle like Derek’s—and his brows are big and bushy but not as easy to read. For instance, Stiles has no idea if they’re furrowed in curiosity, confusion, or even anger because Stiles literally just stopped to stare. Swallowing thickly, he walks over to the case and points at a cake. “Um, here. They’re here. This is a flourless chocolate cake. You can’t even taste the difference.”

Stiles grabs a small slice for him to sample and is pleased when the guy smiles.

“Thanks, Stiles. It’s really good.”

“How did you…?” Stiles tilts his head in confusion as to how this guy knows his name, but then the guy leans forward and taps on the nametag clipped to his apron. His face warms with embarrassment. “ _Oh._ ”

The guy holds his hand out, smiling softly. “I’m Jake.”

“From State Farm?” Stiles jokes, and Jake’s laugh is infectious, and his smile is beautiful. It’s not Derek and his cute bunny teeth, but it still draws Stiles in.

Since there’s no one else in the shop, Stiles points out some other treats Jake might like. He plates up some samples and takes them around the counter to a free table. As they talk, Stiles feels at ease for the first time since leaving Derek’s. He even finds himself smiling at Jake’s jokes and blushing when Jake leans towards him.

When the oven timer goes off, indicating that his oatmeal raisin cookies are done, Stiles is actually saddened at the idea of having to get up.

“I’ve gotta grab that,” he says at the same time Jake asks, “Would you like to go out sometime?”

That’s when Stiles realizes that they’ve kind of been flirting. His mouth falls open, and he sputters, “Uh, um…”

“You’re cute, Stiles. And funny. How about this,” Jake smiles and shakes his head as he pulls something out of his pocket. “Here’s my card. Why don’t you give me a call sometime?”

Stiles nods and gives a sort of half-wave as Jake leaves before looking down at the card. His mind is already at war—should he or shouldn’t he? There’s no time for an internal debate though because the oven timer goes off again.

It’s not until Stiles gets home that afternoon that he takes the time to think about it. He sits on the edge of his bed and stares down at Jake’s card. Maybe he should call Scott or Lydia and ask for their advice, but he can already hear Scott’s disappointment and Lydia’s ‘ _I told you so_.’ Besides, the one person he really wants to talk to is the person he’s trying to get over.

_Whatever_ , he thinks. This is just step one. There’s nothing that says Jake is ‘ _the one_ ’ or anything. It’s just a date—just one date to get himself back out there.

So he shoots out a text to let Jake know that he’d love to have dinner and gets a quick reply back of a smiley face, with a question of whether tonight is too soon. It absolutely is not.

With dinner plans made, Stiles takes a deep breath. Now that he’s moving on, it’s probably a good time for him to finally call Derek and let him know that everything’s okay.

The line doesn’t even get a full ring before Derek’s voice booms through the line. “Stiles?”

“Hey. It’s been a while, huh?”

“ _Three days_.”

Guilt eats at him because Derek sounds exhausted. “I’m sorry. I just— I had some things to work through.”

“‘ _Things to work through?_ ’ Stiles, you flew out of here and then cut off contact. I’ve been driving myself crazy trying to figure out what I did.”

“Derek, it wasn’t—” Stiles sighs heavily and falls back onto the mattress. “It wasn’t anything you did. This was all me. Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. But are you— Is everything okay now?”

“I think so. I’m actually kind of excited about something and could use your advice. I’m meeting someone for dinner. Should I change my clothes? I only ask ‘cause he was at the bakery, so he already knows what I’m wearing, so would it seem like I’m trying too hard if I change?”

“You’re meeting someone for dinner?” Derek asks haltingly like he’s confused.

“Yeah. His name is Jake and—” Stiles chatters excitedly about Jake, though it feels weird to talk about another guy with Derek, almost like he’s doing something wrong.

That feeling amplifies when Derek stops him. “Wait. Are you going out on a date?”

“Uh, yeah? He seemed really nice, and he’s cute so—” There’s a sound of something breaking over the line. “Derek? Did you drop something?”

“You’re going out. On a _date?_ ” Derek asks again. The words are slurred like he’s speaking around his fangs.

“Why do you sound pissed? I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“Happy for y— _Why would I be happy about my boyfriend going on a date tonight?_ ”

“I’m not your boyfriend, remember? We’re not actually dating, Derek.” It’s a painful reminder, and Stiles can’t handle it or whatever is going on with Derek. Maybe the pack is there, but Stiles doesn’t care anymore—he can’t keep doing this, so he ignores the heavy breathing coming through the phone and hangs up.

* * *

_Unknown: You fucked up._

Stiles stares at the message in confusion when two more come in rapid succession.

_Unknown: This is Erica btw_

_Unknown: Did I mention that you fucked up?_

Ah. Now he understands.

“Is everything okay?” Jake asks from across the table. They’re at a stupidly fancy restaurant and yeah, Jake is great, but Stiles can’t help the feeling that he’s settling yet again. He knew this was going to happen, that every guy would get compared to Derek; granted, it probably wasn’t smart to go out with someone who looks so similar.

He’s already hurting but now these messages make him even more miserable, and confused, and upset. Did he just lose Derek’s friendship?

“Just need a drink,” Stiles says, giving Jake a tight-lipped smile. It’s probably not the smartest idea, but Stiles needs to forget about Derek. Of course, that’s hard to do when their food is set down and the lasagna reminds him of Derek—except Derek’s was better and now he can’t stop thinking about Derek.

By the time the waiter brings over his glass of whiskey, he’s only had one bite of his food. It’s not nearly as good as Derek’s, and he’s far too upset, so he downs his drink, blowing out a breath as it burns his throat.

Jake is halfway done with his steak, and Stiles is on his third—no, _fourth_ —drink on an empty stomach when he loses any semblance of a filter.

“D’d I tell you that he makes f’rniture?” Stiles leans over the table and grins stupidly. “He’s _really_ good with his hands,” he says with a wink, already calling the waiter over for another drink.

Stiles pushes away from the table. The chair legs scrape across the floor as he drags it around the table until it’s next to Jake’s. He plops himself down and leans into Jake’s side as he pulls out his phone, rapidly firing through pics of him and Derek. “Now don’ let the hot ‘nd glarey fool you. He likes to think he’s all growly bu’ really he’s a fuckin’ teddy bear.”

He lands on one of the rare pictures of Derek smiling and shoves the phone in Jake’s face. “D’rek has the coo—” No, that’s not right. Stiles laughs because words taste funny, but he nods as he tries to think of what he wants to say. “Cutest bunny teeth. ‘nd dimples. ‘Nd when ‘e laughs, his eyes scrunch up.”

As their waiter passes, Stiles holds up his empty glass and smiles blearily. “Hey, hi, c’n I get an— _hiccup—_ another one of these? Esxtra wh’skey?”

The waiter looks from him to Jake and back again. “Of course.”

“Wha’s that about?” Stiles asks before the thought flies from his head. His mind is floating and he feels relaxed. That is until he looks at Jake, who’s still nursing his first drink. Here he is on a date with a cute guy, and he can’t stop talking about Derek. When the waiter sets his glass on the table, Stiles immediately downs it. “Why do I always fuck things up?”

“Why don’t we switch to water?” Jake suggests, but Stiles scoffs—he can totally hold his liquor.

“M’fine. But seriously, why is Derek being such an ass?” Jake groans and grabs Stiles’s phone from the table. “Hey!”

Jack ignores him and holds the phone to his ear once he finds whatever he was looking for. Ugh, what if he’s calling Stiles’s dad? After a moment, Jake clears his throat and speaks, “No, actually, this is Jake. Are you Derek?”

_Oh, God, no. Nonono. This can't be happening._

Stiles bangs his head on the table and groans. That’s even worse! If the room wasn’t spinning, he would protest; however, right now it takes all of his concentration not to throw up, so he can’t focus on whatever Jake is telling Derek.

Stiles doesn’t know how much time passes before he feels a familiar touch on his cheek. When he looks up, Derek is there. “D’rek?”

“Yeah, Stiles. I’m here,” Derek says softly. He looks worried as he loops an arm around Stiles’s back to help him up. ”Let’s get you home, okay?”

Stiles is too drunk to care about Derek's mate right now. _Fuck ‘em_ , he thinks and shoves away all thoughts of this faceless person who would dare take Derek from him.

As Stiles stands, he ignores the stares of everyone in the restaurant. What a sight he must be right now. His head lolls to the side as he tries to nod even though Derek is already leading him outside. Just as cool air hits his face, Stiles catches sight of Jake walking down the sidewalk. “Jake! M’sorry ‘bout our date.”

Jake scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, some date. Good luck with that,” he says callously to Derek. _Oof!_ Yeah, looks like Stiles picked a real winner again, but Stiles doesn’t even care—not when Derek narrows his eyes and snarls. It sends a thrill through him, seeing Derek be protective of him.

“Tol’ ya he was hot ‘n gl— _hiccup_ —glarey,” Stiles says, staring up at Derek through his lashes. God, he just wants to rub himself all over Derek right now, yank off their clothes and climb Derek like a fucking tree. He moans happily as he feels a large wave of slick leak out of his hole.

“ _Stiles_ …” The way his name is growled shoots straight to his dick. Derek’s arm tightens around him, making him moan at the show of strength and possessiveness. Stiles smiles, dopey and proud, knowing Derek smells how ready he is. His body sags in Derek’s arms as he’s lifted easily.

“Yes,” he hisses. This is even better because now he can wrap his legs around Derek’s waist and roll his hips for friction.

“Stiles. _Stop_.” Derek sounds pained, and Stiles’s brows furrow in confusion. _What? No. Why?_

“Need you,” Stiles pleads as Derek sets him down in the car. When Derek reaches over, trying to buckle him in, Stiles is hit with the overwhelming need to touch—to feel Derek’s crushing weight on top of him. He wants the sweet pressure of Derek’s muscular thighs and forearms bracketing him in—like they did when Derek made love to him. He wants to get lost in Derek’s smell, and taste, and everything. He wants—no, needs—his alpha. His protector.

For days, Stiles has been broken, and vulnerable, and lost without him; now that Derek is within reach, every agonizing second that passes without his touch is the cruelest form of torture. “Derek, please.”

Derek grabs Stiles’s hands, squeezing them gently as he speaks. “Stiles. You’re drunk. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“You don’— _hiccup_ —wan’ me?” Stiles tears up and whines, high and reedy—a desperate plea for his alpha. Then what’s Derek even doing here? Why come?

“I always want you,” Derek mumbles, pulling Stiles close.

Stiles instantly calms as Derek does that rumble-purr thing that sends vibrations throughout his body. Of course, since Stiles is drunk, that also means his dick gets in on the action. “Want your knot. You could fuck me right here, y’know. Wanted it since that day we met. C’mon, Der. Show everyone who I— _hiccup_ —belong to. How good I can take your knot.”

Derek groans, dropping his head to Stiles’s chest, and it’s clear by the tension in his neck and shoulders that he’s holding himself back. “I’m not fucking you in the middle of a parking lot, Stiles.”

_That’s not a no._ But before Stiles can point out how Derek could easily drive them somewhere else, Derek disappears out the door. It’s shut before his mouth even opens. That doesn’t stop him from reaching over as soon as Derek’s in the driver’s seat to try and rub at his crotch.

“How ‘bout a blowjob then?” Derek moves Stiles’s hands back to his lap and starts the Camaro, but Stiles strains against the seatbelt to get to Derek’s pants. “I’m good at it. I promise. Bet I could take your kno—”

“ _Stiles_!” Derek covers his hands, squeezing them so Stiles can’t move them.

“Fuck you!” Stiles yells, trying to snatch his hands back. He’s pissed and horny, and seriously fuck Derek! And his stupid fucking face. Words are hard, and he’s clearly focused on one thing. “You, you fucking...fucking... _fuck!_ ”

Once he stops struggling, Derek lets his hands go, and Stiles clutches them to his chest.

“Stiles, I’m sorry,” Derek says with a heavy, reluctant sigh, “but you’re drunk and we have things to talk about.”

Stiles huffs a breath, staring out the window. Derek passes the turn for the loft, and Stiles sits up, looking back. “Where are you going?”

“I’m taking you home,” Derek says like it should be obvious.

“No, you’re taking me to my apartment!” Stiles yells in panic. The last thing he wants right now is Derek dropping him off and leaving. “That’s not home. Home is with you, Derek. _Please._ I’ll be good, I swear! I won’t— I won’t—”

“Hey, hey. Stiles, it’s okay. We’ll go to the loft,” Derek says reassuringly. “Is that what you want?”

Nodding, Stiles takes deep breaths as he clutches his seatbelt. “Home,” he whispers, instantly calming when Derek reaches over and squeezes his knee.

“Okay.”

Stiles closes his eyes and leans against the window, letting it cool the warmth of his face. Even with everything that’s happened, it’s the most relaxed he’s felt all day, and he knows it’s because of Derek.

It only feels like minutes later that Derek is opening his door and holding a hand out for him. Stiles tries to move, lift his legs to get out, but his body won’t cooperate. “Der? M’broken. My legs don’ work.”

One of Derek’s arms slips under Stiles’s thighs while the other loops around his back. Stiles rests his head on Derek’s shoulder as Derek says, “Shh… Just sleep, Stiles.”

It should be easy to do since he’s exhausted; however, Derek’s hands are on him, and all he can think about is _sexsexsex_. Does the loft still smell like them? Did Derek already fix the oven door or the scratches on the column in the living room? Is the headboard still split where Derek gripped it too hard?

Stiles is so lost in his thoughts that before he knows it, they’re in the loft, and Derek is walking him over to the bed.

“You changed the sheets,” Stiles says without thought. Gone is the ridiculously expensive bedding, replaced with something that—knowing Derek—is probably still expensive.

Derek sets him down on the edge of the mattress and grunts. “They were ripped,” he says as a matter of fact before kneeling and untying Stiles’s shoes.

“Tol’ you they’d get ruined,” Stiles says, putting a hand on Derek’s shoulder for leverage. His face warms as he remembers the last time he was on this bed and how Derek’s knot filled him so perfectly.

Once Stiles’s shoes are off, Derek helps him stand to deftly unbutton his pants. They’re loose, falling easily as Stiles wasn’t really trying too hard to impress his date. In fact, he wore his Batman boxers because he wasn’t planning on having sex.

It’s definitely cringe-worthy now considering Derek’s in front of him.

“Don’t judge me,” Stiles says as he grabs the hem of his shirt, hoping to do a little striptease. He channels his inner Channing Tatum and rolls his hips as he hums _Pony_. Unfortunately, luck is not on his side. Stiles already has abysmal coordination, so being drunk and having his pants pooled at his ankles doesn’t help; he almost falls flat on his face when his shirt gets stuck on his head.

Though, maybe luck _is_ on his side because Derek catches him. Stiles sighs dreamily when Derek frees him from the offending article, tossing it in the direction of the bathroom. He wants to make a quip about how maybe he should have worn Superman boxers instead, but the room spins. It’s instant nausea as dizziness washes over him.

Stiles covers his mouth with one hand and pushes away from Derek with the other.

“Stiles?”

_Oh nononono._ The last thing Stiles wants is for Derek to watch him puke. He runs for the bathroom and slams the door shut behind him before throwing up into the toilet.

When the door creaks open behind him, Stiles waves a hand frantically as he dry heaves. “Go ‘way.”

The sink turns on and a cool, wet washcloth is pressed to his forehead. All fight leaves him as he slumps back against the tub.

“You’re all right,” Derek says, wiping his mouth. “Here. Drink this.”

Stiles grimaces at the glass of water pressed to his lips, but he drinks it anyway. It’s the least he can do since Derek just had to watch him throw up and is now taking care of him. Derek probably thinks he’s gross and disgusting and will never want to have sex with him again!

Derek gently shushes him and pushes the sweaty hair back from Stiles’s forehead. “I’ll always want you, Stiles.”

_Oh, shit_. Did he say all that out loud?

“Yes, you did,” Derek says, rubbing his back. Stiles groans dramatically. _Stupid lack of brain-to-mouth filter._ Derek kisses his temple before carefully lifting Stiles off the floor. “How ‘bout we get you to bed, huh?”

Stiles closes his eyes and rests his head on Derek’s shoulder for only a moment before he’s laid in the bed. As he curls up under the blankets, he smiles sleepily at Derek as the night's events replay in his mind. Even with everything that’s happened, Derek came to his rescue.

There are no words for how much Derek means to him—this man is his whole world. “Thank you.”

“Always, Stiles. Now just sleep, okay?”

“M’kay,” he says, snuggling his pillow. “Love you, Der.”

“ _Stiles_.” Derek’s voice sounds pained and when Stiles looks up, Derek is kneeling beside the bed and brushing his knuckles down his cheek.

Stiles leans into the touch and gives him a dopey smile. “‘S my name. Don’ wear it out,” he says with a bubble of laughter.

Derek’s pained expression softens to something fond and adoring, and Stiles hums when Derek kisses his forehead. “Okay. Definitely time for bed now. Get some rest.”

“‘Kay,” Stiles says, closing his eyes again.

“And Stiles?” Derek says from somewhere above him.

“Mmm?”

“I love you, too.”

* * *

Stiles wakes up to his head pounding and everything spinning. The room is far too bright to be home. Did he pass out on Scott’s couch again? However, it wouldn’t make any sense seeing as how he’s been cooped up, pining away alone at home for days since leaving Derek’s.

_...Wait_.

The prior day comes flooding back like a bad dream; his fight with Derek, getting stupidly drunk during dinner, throwing himself at Derek, and getting sick. Stiles closes his eyes and squeezes them shut.

_Nonononono_. _Please be a dream, please be a dream, please be a dream_.

After sending out his pleas to every deity, Stiles opens one eye and groans internally because, of course, it’s not a dream. Why would life go easy on him? Though, a quick peek over his shoulder reveals that Derek isn’t in bed with him. Maybe, if he’s lucky, Derek’s in the bathroom, and he can sneak out.

Except, of course, Derek isn’t in the bathroom—a clatter from the kitchen proves otherwise. Maybe if he’s really quiet, Derek won’t notice?

Why in the world is that a question? Derek probably already knows he’s awake. And if Stiles is being completely honest with himself, part of him is glad. He’s missed Derek like crazy, and it has to mean something that Derek came to his rescue and took care of him last night. Mate or not, it’s clear that Derek cares for him. Though, Derek did try to take Stiles back to his apartment first.

God, his head hurts too much for this shit. He needs to at least get to the bathroom and splash water on his face before dealing with... _whatever_ is about to happen.

Slipping out of bed is a chore, and both his head and stomach protest the movement. Grabbing the mattress for support, Stiles blows out a long, slow breath in hopes of calming his rolling stomach.

“You okay?” Derek asks. Stiles looks over, and it’s the first time he can’t get a read on him. Derek’s expression relays nothing, and it’s terrifying.

As much as Stiles knows they need to talk, maybe he _should_ leave. He swallows thickly and manages a shaky nod. “Yeah. I’m okay. Just gimme a second, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Stiles?”

Stiles shakes his head, refusing to look up and see the concern on Derek’s face. “No, no, it’s fine, Derek. You shouldn’t have to take care of me. Besides, Scott’s going to kill me. I never called him last night, and while he might look like a werepuppy, he can be pretty ferocious.”

“ _Mieczysław._ ”

Oh, shit. Derek said his _name_.

Soft footfalls fill the loft as Derek walks quickly across the room. When Stiles looks up, Derek is frowning—not at all surprising considering what happened yesterday. Why would Derek want anything to do with him anymore? Between begging for sex and clinging to him, Stiles made a complete fool out of himself.

So naturally, Stiles starts deflecting. “Aww, come on. That’s not fair. Remind me to build a time machine so I can go back and never tell you my real name.”

Derek holds out a coffee cup. “Drink this.”

Stiles scrunches his face in confusion. Why isn’t Derek kicking him out?

“Don’t worry about Scott. I called him last night when I went to pick you up. He knows where you are.” Derek puts the mugs down on the side table and directs him to sit. “Now, _please_.”

The only thing Stiles can do is comply when Derek puts a hand on the small of his back. As he settles against the pillows, he looks anywhere except at Derek until one of the steaming mugs is pressed into his hands.

“And take this too,” Derek says, grabbing a bottle of Tylenol from the nightstand.

Stiles puts two pills on his tongue and takes a gulp of the coffee. It really shouldn’t surprise him that it’s made exactly as he likes it. His moans of appreciation fill the loft as the sweet, creamy flavor of hazelnut and caramel hits his tongue.

Derek clears his throat and sits on the edge of the bed. His expression is a little easier to read now; it looks like Derek is the one confused right now, like he can’t seem to figure Stiles out. “Stiles. What do you remember about last night?”

Stiles groans and _thunks_ the back of his head against the headboard. “Please don’t make me say it.”

Before Stiles can complain about his head hurting too much for the embarrassment, Derek’s hand is on his ankle. Black tendrils snake up Derek’s arm as he takes Stiles’s pain. “Well, you’re going to have to because after everything, it’s clear we’re not on the same page, and I would really like us to be.”

With a heavy sigh, Stiles stares down at his cup and taps on the sides. “I don’t remember details. It’s kind of like skipping through a movie?” he says with a shrug. He goes over the little pieces he remembers, with the last being throwing up in the toilet.

“So you don’t remember me tucking you in bed?” When Stiles shakes his head, Derek nods. There’s a soft smile on Derek’s face, like he knows a secret that Stiles isn’t privy to. “Would you like me to tell you my version of events?”

Stiles blows out a breath because—here it comes—Derek’s about to tell him how disappointed he is, how upset he is that Stiles is yet another person to use him. Even if that’s not the case, then this is Derek saying how he can’t commit to a relationship when he has a mate out there.

Except, Derek does none of those things.

“The pack was here. When you called. I’d already been... _moping_ , for lack of a better word. Erica called me Eeyore.”

“Why—” Stiles sits up, clears his throat of the lump that formed when he assumed the worst, and sets his mug next to Derek’s still on the nightstand. “Why were you moping?”

“Because you left after your heat and cut off all contact. I hadn’t heard from you in _two days_ , Stiles. Do you have any idea what that did to me? And it wasn’t until you told me about your... _date,”_ Derek practically spits the word out, “that _Erica_ realized what was going on—that you had no idea.”

Stiles is confused. _No idea about what?_

“She chewed me out for not talking to you about mates.”

Stiles groans. _Mates_. He already knows more than he cares about the concept. The last thing he wants to do is hear about how they can’t be together because of someone who could show up at any moment.

“Isaac’s the only one who stood up for me. I mean, is it really a surprise that I suck at communication? You’re the only one who understands me. But I guess you didn’t. And, of course, how were you supposed to know? But you accepted my wolf, Stiles. I don’t expose myself like that. I don’t submit, Stiles. Ever. But I did for you. I _trust_ you. I made myself vulnerable. For _you_.”

“ _What?_ ” Stiles asks, needing clarification, but Derek keeps talking.

“Then you took the rabbit and even challenged me to do better, to show I could provide.”

Again Stiles opens his mouth to question what Derek is talking about, but Derek doesn’t stop.

“And you never lied. Not once did your heart skip a beat when we talked about being together.”

Okay, that seems like a flaw Stiles should have realized when he first thought up this crazy scheme of being Derek’s fake boyfriend.

“But even if I hadn’t known before… As soon as your heat triggered my rut, there was no question. And why didn’t you say anything when I started planning your heat?”

Stiles laughs nervously, scratching at his cheek. Does he tell Derek that there was no way he was turning down an opportunity to spend a heat with him? It makes him sound like the only thing he wanted was Derek’s knot—even though that wasn't the case at all. Stiles knew implicitly that no one would take care of him the way Derek would. Derek doesn't give him a chance to answer though.

“I thought you knew when you asked me to knot you. We only knot our mates, Stiles. And then you said you were mine. ‘ _My alpha_ ,’ that’s what you said. You called for me, and you claimed me. It’s why I can lick your wounds and they'll heal faster. I could only do that for my mate.”

The words rattle around Stiles’s head, like pieces of a puzzle that finally fall into place—Derek providing for him, Derek’s rut being triggered, claiming, healing… “Wait. _We’re_ mates? You never said!”

Derek’s face pulls down in his trademark glower. “I thought you knew,” he says quietly, clearly ashamed of assuming.

“I’m not a werewolf. I don’t have the same instincts. I can’t sense things like you can. You know that!” He jabs a finger into Derek’s chest. “And you know that I only know what you tell me, and we never talked about _that!_ I would definitely remember that conversation.”

Though there were instances where the word was thrown around, aimed at their relationship but Stiles assumed it was because they were ‘dating.’

“I can’t believe _we’re_ mates. You never even tried to kiss me!” he exclaims. At least not anything more than on the cheek, temple, or forehead. That seems like a pretty big thing for couples to do.

“I thought you wanted to take it slow?” Derek says with a nervous laugh. Stiles rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Yeah, believe me, I know how stupid it sounds. Erica already yelled at me. But really, you just got out of a long-term relationship, and I didn’t want to push you for more than you might have been ready for.”

“I was ready!” Stiles thinks of every time he almost kissed Derek. He facepalms over the fact that they’ve been dancing around each other for months. His heat would have gone very differently if he’d known they were mates. “I was so ready.”

“Yeah, I know. I could smell it on you.” Derek is kind enough to try and hide his smirk, but Stiles still grimaces. Stupid werewolves and their stupid enhanced senses. “The pack was very confused as to why they only ever smelled me and lube but never you.”

“Wait a minute. You mean to tell me that you’ve been jacking off? _This whole time?_ ” Stiles’s mouth falls open. Here he’s been holding back at touching himself because all he could think of was Derek whenever he closed his eyes, and he always felt guilty about it.

“I thought we were together?" Derek winces, looking away like he can't meet Stiles's eyes. "Though Erica has now made it very clear that I am an idiot who needs to use his words."

Stiles snorts. _Yeah, that definitely sounds like Erica._

“Oh, we are _so_ working on your communication skills, buddy,” he says, poking Derek in the chest.

“I know. I will, Stiles. _We_ will.” Derek’s lips quirk up in a smile, and he brushes his knuckles down the side of Stiles’s face.

That gesture, that single touch, sparks something—a memory from the night before of Derek kneeling next to him. Stiles said ‘ _I love you_ ,’ and Derek—

Stiles’s eyes go wide, tearing up at the memory. His voice is thick with emotion as he whispers, “You said it back. You tucked me in and when I said I love you, you said it back.”

Derek wears that same soft smile, the one from earlier—only now Stiles is in on the secret. “Because I do. And now that we’re on the same page… Stiles, I want to be with you. A _real_ rela—”

Stiles doesn’t let him finish. Instead, he pushes forward and throws his arms around Derek’s neck. “Yes! Yes, Derek. You have me. You are so stuck with me. And we’re talking forever.”

“We’re mates, Stiles. I am more than okay with that,” Derek says before cupping his face and kissing him.

Stiles's heart swells as he feels every ounce of love in the soft, gentle kiss which holds the promise of a new beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who likes college AUs with a side of alpha!derek and spark!stiles as roommates??? new fic out next week!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact! last chapter (chapter 8) was the original ending and then my mind went but! but! if they're mates, shouldn't they exchange mating bites????? and then! i was like and we _have_ to see erica's reaction. and dammit, if their relationship is _this_ serious, then derek _has_ to meet the sheriff! and thus, this chapter was born! et voila!

It’s only been a few minutes since Stiles left the bed to brush his teeth when the bathroom door flies open and Derek— _his mate!_ —plasters himself to his back.

“Uh, Der?” Stiles speaks around the toothbrush. There’s foam from the toothpaste dripping down the side of his mouth.

“Missed you,” Derek mumbles into the crook of his neck, tightening his arms around Stiles’s waist.

Stiles huffs a laugh and spits into the sink before rinsing his mouth. “I’ve only been gone for _two_ minutes, Derek.

“Too long,” Derek murmurs into the crook of Stiles’s neck before pressing kisses into his skin. So unfair. Derek knows how sensitive his neck is!

It doesn’t stop him from leaning back to tilt his head, giving Derek more access. “W-we should be able to g-go more than a couple of minutes without each other. We’re b-big boys, D— _hnnng!_ —Derek!”

Having Derek kissing and sucking on his neck is... _affecting_ him. However, Stiles wants answers because it feels like this need to be near each other has some significance, probably having to do with them being mates.

Which Derek confirms when he finally stops trying to latch onto Stiles’s neck like it’s oxygen. “We’re mates, Stiles. We’re really not supposed to spend that much time apart without contact. We’re not meant to be isolated from each other like that. It’s a good thing I didn’t give you the mating bite before you left that morning, or my wolf would have seen it as a rejection.”

“Mating bite?”

Derek nods and strokes a thumb down the side of Stiles’s neck. “It’s a claim. Strengthens our bond as mates. Makes us more attuned to each other’s emotions and unites us on a deeper, more profound level. It’ll also settle my wolf because it’ll show everyone that you’re mine.”

“I _am_ yours,” Stiles says fiercely which makes Derek smile brightly.

“I know you are. Just like I’m yours.” Derek cups his face and leans in close until they’re a hairsbreadth apart. “Can I kiss you now, or are you going to swat me away again?”

Stiles narrows his eyes and sticks out his tongue. The only reason he came into the bathroom was to brush his teeth because he was not full-on making out with Derek after all the drinking he did last night. Not to mention that he got sick. “Sue me for wanting minty fresh breath before you stick your tongue down my throat.”

“I don’t care what your breath smells like, Stiles.”

It’s probably not a lie, and maybe that means Derek loves him more, but gross. In fact, Stiles turns and yanks Derek’s toothbrush from the holder before pressing it to Derek’s chest with a raised brow. “Yes, I know. You’re perfect, and your breath probably smells like sunshine and daisies—”

Derek makes a sound that’s between a snort and a groan while pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s— Stiles, that’s not possible.”

Stiles holds a finger up to shush him. “ _Shh_ … No interrupting. But we do not do morning breath, okay?”

“Stiles. I’ve had my tongue _in_ your ass. And then we made out.”

“ _Okay?_ I mean, that’s hot,” Stiles says with an expression of clear confusion.

“So you’ll kiss me when I still have your slick all over my lips, but morning breath is where you draw the line?” Derek says with disbelief.

“Yes. Now brush if you expect to get all up on this.” Derek complies, and Stiles turns to brush his teeth. _Again_. But he hasn’t forgotten what Derek said about mating bites. “So are you— I mean, do you want to? Do that? Bite me?”

Stiles can see Derek’s reflection in the mirror and watches as he stills. Derek swallows thickly, nodding slowly. He blinks away the red that had bled into his irises at Stiles’s questions, making quick work of rinsing his mouth and drying his face before turning fully to face Stiles.

“Yes,” Derek speaks like he’s using all of his self-control to stop his fangs from descending. “More than anything. But it’s intense. Physically _and_ emotionally. Especially for a human body to handle. I know you think our bond is strong now, and it is, but the mating bite will change everything. Until our bond settles, it’ll be physically painful to be apart for too long. And we’ll be able to sense each other’s emotions—”

Stiles’s eyes go wide, and Derek cuts himself off. He’s sure Derek is mistaking his excitement for panic and dread. Especially when Derek cups his face and says adamantly, “It doesn’t have to happen until you’re ready. I will never ever force you to do something you don’t want.”

“Who says I’m not ready?” Stiles asks quickly before swishing some water in his mouth to get the taste of toothpaste off his tongue. But his thoughts stray to every time he’s run out of the loft and away from Derek. He can’t blame Derek for thinking he’s not ready.

“No one is saying you’re not, but besides being overwhelming and intense, a mating bite is sacred—life-changing—and we don’t have to do it until you’re sure that you want to be bonded with me forever.”

Stiles takes the hand towel Derek used and wipes his mouth when he’s done rinsing. Without looking, he tosses it towards the hamper, not caring where it lands. He runs a hand through his hair and blows out a breath before speaking.

“Derek, I know what I want. The only reason I’ve pushed you away like I have is because I thought you had a mate out there. And you do. Me. _I’m_ your mate and, dammit, we’ve waited long enough.”

Derek growls, pulling Stiles to his chest. “Mine. _My_ mate.”

“Yeah, _exactly_. I’m _yours_. Now, why don’t you do something about it?” Stiles challenges.

Derek answers by quickly hauling Stiles up and carrying him from the bathroom, only to dump him on the bed. Stiles scrambles to scoot back against the pillows as Derek crawls over him. The predatory look on Derek’s face makes Stiles’s dick jump.

But that’s not what this is about.

Stiles is pressed into the mattress, weighed down by the entirety of Derek’s body as they kiss.

They make out for seconds, minutes, hours—Stiles isn’t even sure anymore. All he knows in this moment is Derek. Derek, who takes his breath away with every look, every touch, and every kiss.

Derek pulls away, panting. “You sure you wanna do this?” Derek asks, pressing their foreheads together. He fixes Stiles with a piercing gaze, seemingly searching Stiles’s eyes for any reluctance. “Mating is permanent. We’ll be bound together for the rest of our lives. We can always wait if you’re not re—”

Stiles kisses him to shut him up. When it’s clear that Derek’s not going to pull away to protest again, he pulls back.

Derek buries his head in Stiles’s shoulder and whines as his fangs distend. “I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going,” he admits, breathing heavily.

Stiles gently pulls Derek’s face back up, giving him no choice but to watch as Stiles deliberately tilts his head back and exposes the long lines of his neck in a way that he knows will be particularly enticing to Derek’s wolf. “I’m ready. I’ve _been_ ready for months now. I’m _yours_ , Derek. I was yours the second I heard your voice. Your omega. Your mate.”

Apparently, that was the answer Derek needed to finally give in and give them what they’ve both been longing for. Derek leans in determinedly, unable to keep his instincts at bay, and Stiles feels the sharp sting of Derek’s fangs on his neck. All at once, the momentary flash of pain is replaced by an intense, all-consuming rush of pure ecstasy and bliss, making him moan deeply. It’s like something snaps into place, a connection so powerful and bright that his vision goes white, and a sense of completion and _rightness_ engulfs him.

For once, Stiles chooses to let go of every ounce of control and lets himself get lost in the pleasure that washes over him. His eyes glaze over, and his mouth falls open in a silent scream. Time loses all meaning as he feels soft shudders wrack his body. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he can hear someone moaning—most likely himself—but his mind is too fuzzy from the sudden influx of endorphins to really decipher it. He feels like he’s in a dream—blissfully floating in Derek’s embrace.

As Stiles comes down from the high of being claimed, he starts to register his surroundings again. He feels Derek lap gently at the wound, placing one last kiss on it as it heals.

Stiles sighs happily. He flashes Derek a big, dopey grin and tugs him down, kissing him sweetly.

The love and pure _joy_ that radiates through their bond is bright, warm, and utterly all-consuming. Stiles can feel Derek’s devotion and unconditional—almost worshipful—love for him through every gentle, adoring kiss he places on Stiles’s lips.

Suddenly, Stiles is hit with a thought that causes him to pull away, panting and wide-eyed.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

“What is it? Is something wrong? Are you hurt?” Derek asks, eyes frantically raking over the mark—likely checking to see if it’s healing properly.

“No! Der, it’s fantastic. Amazing. It’s-it’s...supercalafragalisticexpialadocious!” Stiles insists happily, giggling. “You need to feel this, Der, I’m serious. Can I— Would I be able to bite _you?_ To claim you too?”

Derek sucks in a sharp breath, and his eyes widen in surprise. “W-would you want to? I mean, is that...i-is that something you’d be willing to do?”

_Woah_. Stiles has never heard Derek stutter before. He grabs Derek’s face in a firm grip and tries to speak with as much conviction as he can muster right now. “Of course, I want to. Yeah, I’m yours, but you’re also mine. And I want everyone to know.”

Derek’s eyes soften for a second before he smirks. “Such a bossy omega,” he teases. Based on the smug pride in his eyes, Stiles surmises that Derek secretly loves how possessive he can be.

“Damn straight, Sourwolf. Now, let me show the world.”

Derek nods, his expression turning serious. Slowly, deliberately, he tilts his head, baring his jugular.

Stiles can’t help but suck in a ragged breath. He may not know all the details about what it’s like to be a wolf, but one thing he knows for sure is that an alpha _never_ submits. For Derek—an alpha _wolf_ —to expose himself like this means that he trusts Stiles with his life.

Stiles leans in, placing a gentle kiss over his pulsing artery, feeling the life coursing through his mate’s body under his lips. Despite the fact that Stiles has never done this before, a sense of calm and confidence washes over him, as though something in the bond is guiding him.

Carefully, he sinks his teeth into the crook of Derek’s neck, tasting the metallic tang of blood. There’s half a second where seemingly nothing happens but, before he can second-guess himself, he feels something deep inside of himself lock into place, and he _knows_ it worked.

Derek gasps and collapses on top of him, trembling, before suddenly throwing his head back and letting out the longest, loudest howl Stiles has ever heard. He can feel Derek’s joy coursing through the bond.

Stiles continues to hold Derek through the high, rubbing his back and stroking his hair as Derek floats through the newfound rush of emotions and endorphins that had consumed Stiles just moments before.

After about five minutes, Derek stops shaking and goes limp, resting his head in the crook of Stiles’s neck. He breathes in desperate lungfuls of Stiles’s scent.

“I can _feel_ you,” Derek whispers in awe.

Stiles smiles down at him and scratches at the nape of Derek’s neck. “I know.”

“Fuck,” Derek breathes. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, big guy.”

* * *

They spend the next twenty minutes tangled together, exchanging soft kisses and gentle touches. Stiles wants nothing more than to stay like this forever.

Unfortunately, Stiles’s stomach has other plans.

It rumbles loudly, a clear protest of the fact that he hasn’t eaten in—actually, Stiles isn’t quite sure how long. His dinner went practically untouched the night before. In fact, Stiles spent so much time moping the past couple of days that his last good meal was probably whatever Derek made him eat during his last night of heat.

“You’re hungry,” Derek says, pulling away, much to Stiles’s protests. “Let me take care of you. _Please_.”

Stiles relents because if he’s this overwhelmed, then he can’t even begin to imagine the warring emotions going through Derek. His instincts must be going crazy with the need to provide and take care of Stiles.

Derek slips out of bed, heading straight for the kitchen.

“We’ll have to tell my dad,” Stiles calls out over the sound of the refrigerator, pantry, and various cabinets opening and closing. _And Scott_ , he thinks as he grabs his phone—now fully charged—from the nightstand.

_Or maybe I’ll just text him_.

But before he gets Scott’s contact info pulled up, he sees the texts Erica sent him the night before.

_Oh, shit_. All Stiles can think of is her threat on the night of the full moon, and he has a slight moment of panic. She’s going to kill him.

“Stiles?” Derek comes over, kneeling on the bed as he gathers Stiles close. Their strengthened bond probably makes the slight panic seem worse than it is.

“Erica told me that if I ever hurt you, she’d kill me,” he mutters into Derek’s chest, feeling stupid for bringing Derek unnecessary worry. He knows she wouldn’t actually kill him.

Derek sighs heavily and kisses the top of his head. “She’s not going to hurt you, Stiles. You’re my mate.”

“I know, but—” His poor human body is still far too overwhelmed from the mating bite, so he can’t help how it’s reacting right now.

Derek seems to understand and rubs his back. “Okay. So, what would help right now?”

Stiles thinks about it briefly before answering, “A shower.”

“Okay. Then let’s do that. I’ll get it ready for you.”

“No,” Stiles says quickly, not wanting to be apart from him. “Wanna shower with you.”

“But you’re hungry. I could cook while you shower, and it’ll be ready by the time you’re done.”

“I know your instincts are all ‘ _take care of him and provide,_ ’ but dammit we can go to the diner when we’re done. Besides, you wouldn’t even let me brush my teeth in peace. There’s no way you’re sitting out here cooking while I shower.”

Derek glowers like he doesn’t want to agree, but it’s not as if Stiles is wrong.

Once in the shower, they face each other, content to take a second to appreciate this quiet moment together. The warm water cascades over their bodies, matting Derek’s hair down and dancing across the grooves of his face.

“Hi,” Stiles breathes, smiling softly. Derek’s eyes crinkle as he fixes Stiles with a look so fond and adoring that Stiles can’t help it when his smile grows crooked and dorky.

“Hi,” Derek murmurs, trailing his fingers down the side of Stiles’s face. Stiles leans in, closing his eyes as he prepares to catch Derek’s lips in a soft kiss, but Derek stiffens when there’s only a hairsbreadth between them.

“Oh, God. _Is it my breath?_ ” Stiles asks, horrified at the prospect of Derek getting a taste of his hangover breath. Yeah, Derek already assured him that he doesn’t mind Stiles’s morning breath, but what if he just said that to be nice, and now he’s cursing all the werewolf gods for making Stiles his mate?

_Ugh, why does his life always have to be so mortifying?_

“I swear, I brushed like four ti—” Stiles stops when Derek tilts his head to the side, a clear sign that he’s listening to something. Or maybe it’s _someone,_ with the thrum of annoyance he feels through their bond. Derek lets out a frustrated huff. That could only mean one thing.

_Fuck_.

Of course the pack came over to check on their alpha. Which means Erica is out there, and she knows that he’s here. “Derek. I told you. She’s gonna kill me. You’re growling ‘cause she’s threatening me, and I’m gonna die. How am I gonna explain the whole ‘ _dead son_ ’ thing to my dad?”

Derek rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but Stiles speaks again before he can say a word. “By the way? Totally gonna haunt you when I die.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I don’t hear you deny that she’s threatening me.”

Derek rolls his eyes again. “I won’t let her do anything. I promise.”

“So she _is_ threatening me?” Instead of answering, Derek shuts off the water and grabs their towels.

Stiles dries off slowly. Yes, he’s being a chicken, but he doesn’t care. Erica has the potential to be Lydia Martin levels of scary. Besides, it gives him a moment to stare at their reflections and look at the dark red marks on their skin.

“Is it supposed to look like this?” he asks, absentmindedly running his fingers over the healed bite. “Red like this? Usually, scars are white.”

“It shows the strength of our bond,” Derek says as Stiles leans back into him.

“So this is good?”

“Very good.” Derek places a kiss on it, letting out a pleased rumble that practically thrums through their bond.

There’s muffled talking coming through the door, and Stiles knows there’s no way to avoid seeing the pack. In fact, as Derek’s mate, he’s sure they’d give him shit for trying to avoid them, or Erica will. She’d hound him to no end if he gave in and showed fear. “Guess we should get this over with.”

Derek kisses the side of Stiles’s head. “It’s going to be fine.”

With their towels wrapped around their waists, Derek opens the bathroom door. Steam billows around them as they step out. Despite Derek’s calm front, Stiles notices that Derek situates himself between him and the pack.

“‘ _It’s gonna be fine, Stiles_ ,’” he mutters under his breath, poking Derek’s ass through the terrycloth. “Worry wolf.”

Erica stands against the closest column and looks between them. Her expression screams that she’s wholly unimpressed though he’s not sure if it’s because of him, the fact that they didn’t come out of the bathroom right away, or their new mating bites.

It’s likely all three.

Her arms are crossed as she pushes away from the column. “Oh, look. You stayed this time. That’s nice.”

Derek goes rigid as she walks over, but Erica doesn’t move around him. Smart. They might be pack, but Stiles is Derek’s mate. Whether he’d mean to or not, Derek would probably hurt her if she tried to get between them.

“Don’t think that mark will protect you. I told you what would happen if you hurt him.”

Derek growls, shocking a squeak from Stiles who peaks around Derek and implores, “I didn’t know!”

“Oh, we know. And I already yelled at Derek last night before he ran out of here. In fact, I’ve yelled at him every day for the past two days since you left. It’s _your_ turn now.”

Stiles braces himself for her rightful anger.

“Do you have any idea what you leaving did to him?”

“ _Erica_ ,” Derek warns.

“No, Derek. He has a right to know that you sat here moping like—”

“Eeyore,” Stiles says quickly. “He told me.”

Erica narrows her eyes and scoffs before continuing, “And then last night. With your _date_ ,” she sounds just like Derek did when he spewed the word yesterday, “You have no idea how hard that was for him. To hear that his mate was going out with someone else.”

Stiles, being far too uncomfortable to follow proper social cues, laughs nervously. “In my defense, I didn’t know about the mate thing. I mean, I knew. That he had one. I just didn’t know it was me. And I was trying to move on so I didn’t have my heart broken when he finally found them.”

Erica rolls her eyes but walks away to stand next to Boyd. Stiles is, once again, grateful for his silence.

Unlike Isaac who calls out, “You’re both idiots,” as he digs through the pantry in the kitchen.

Derek growls again, and suddenly Stiles is reminded of how very naked they are under their towels when his dick starts to chub. The scent hits Derek first because he reacts immediately, turning his head to the side. His nostrils flare, and his eyes flash red. His warning growl fades as the sexiest smile spreads over his ridiculously beautiful face.

Stiles bites his bottom lip at how unfair Derek is being by looking at him like that. Before he can even register what’s happening, a thick line of slick rolls down his leg and lands on the floor.

“Nope!” Isaac slams the cabinet doors closed, and Stiles is snapped out of his trance. “Listen, I’m happy for you guys, but I refuse to sit here and... _smell_ all that.”

Erica on the other hand looks like she’s about to settle in for a show, except Boyd wraps an arm around her waist to drag her from the loft.

“We’ll be back!” she yells, and Stiles isn’t sure if it’s a warning or a promise. Maybe both.

But it doesn’t matter because Derek spins in place and pins Stiles with a stare reminiscent of when he was in rut.

_Oh, boy_.

The towels drop, and Stiles is all gasps and moans when Derek pushes him back towards the bed while sucking on his neck. He lets out a soft _oof_ as he falls back onto the mattress. Not even a second passes before Derek crawls over him, capturing his lips in a heated kiss.

After a week of heat, Derek knows exactly where to touch and kiss, so it’s no surprise how quickly he gets Stiles off. But there’s not a moment of rest as Derek flips him to his hands and knees.

_Jesus, fuck!_ is the last thought he has before shorting out because his ass is spread and Derek’s lips are on his hole. It’s so different from heat, when sex is a _need_. The gentle scrape of scruff on his inner thighs makes his whole body shake with want.

Two fingers join Derek’s tongue as Derek works him open slowly and methodically. Stiles is grateful because while he’s slick, he needs a bit more prep to take Derek’s dick comfortably since he’s not in heat—it’s a fucking _huge_ dick, okay?

_God, he wants it in him so bad_.

“Patience, little omega.” Because, naturally, Stiles said that out loud.

“Oh, fuck y-you, D-Derek.” Stiles drops his shoulders to the bed and pants into the crook of his arm. “I want your kn— _oh fuck, right there!_ ” Derek adds a third finger, and they’re rubbing his prostate so deliciously.

“You were saying?” Derek says, and Stiles just knows he’s smirking. The bastard.

“I hate you.”

The bed shifts as Derek leans forward, making Stiles whine at the loss of his tongue as his hole clenches around nothing. It’s so worth it though when Derek breathes onto the shell of his ear, “No. You don’t.”

Stiles bites his bottom lip and shakes his head. It’s impossible to hate Derek.

“I’m going to knot you, Stiles.” Derek’s voice drips with intent. And just knowing what it really means—having the mating bite on his neck now—it sends shivers down Stiles’s spine.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes out. “My alpha. My _mate_.”

The word must unleash something in Derek because his fingers are gone. Before Stiles can protest, he feels the blunt head of Derek's massive dick pressing against his rim and slowly slipping inside him.

The burn is...actually it’s barely there, but he recalls the memory of Derek saying that they are literally _made_ for each other. Neither moan nor gasp. Instead, the loft is filled with the sound of their heavy breathing until Derek is fully seated.

Once he is, Derek loops an arm around Stiles's stomach and pulls him up. Derek’s other arm is around his chest, hugging him from behind. They don’t move for a moment. Instead, Derek presses his blunt teeth against Stiles’s mark. All blood rushes south, making Stiles hard again.

“You’re sensitive right now.” Derek practically purrs in his ear, lowering his hand until he’s fisting Stiles’s dick. “I like it. Bet I could make you cum just from sucking on your mating bite.”

Stiles is pretty sure of that too. Hell, Derek sucking on his neck, licking his nipples, or eating him out usually has him cumming untouched, so why would this be any different?

To make sure Derek doesn’t do anything stupid, like pull out and prove his theory, Stiles reaches back and palms Derek’s ass, holding him close. “Don’t even think about it.”

Derek chuckles against his ear. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good.” Stiles rolls his hips, moaning at the sensation of Derek's dick in his ass and Derek's calloused hand stroking him. No matter how gentle Derek tries to be, there’s no way Stiles is going to last if he keeps it up. “Get your hand off my dick. I wanna cum on your knot.”

“Bossy,” Derek says with a laugh, but he slides his hand back up to Stiles’s stomach, pulling him impossibly close.

As Derek grinds his hips, Stiles turns his head, capturing Derek's lips in a heated kiss until he can’t breathe anymore and he absolutely _has_ to pull away. His head falls back to Derek’s shoulder as he pants. “Yeah, well. You like it.”

“I love it.” Each word is punctuated by short thrusts, making Stiles cry out until he’s a whimpering mess of nonsense.

It’s so much more intense with their bond, their connection, and Stiles is riding a nerve-blistering edge.

Derek is reduced to caveman grunts with every snap of his hips, until he finally stills. When Derek’s knot swells, Stiles lets out a string of curses as his whole body quakes, unable to speak or even breathe as he cums.

Maybe it has to do with being mated now, but Stiles doesn’t have enough mental capacity to further entertain the idea.

Derek keeps an arm around Stiles and lies them on their sides. He kisses the nape of Stiles’s neck, continuing down to trail kisses over his mating bite and shoulder. “So good for me.”

Now Stiles is the one reduced to grunts. It’s all he can manage right now. In fact, all he wants to do is close his eyes and sleep. He can feel Derek’s lips lift in a smile. “Did I wear you out?”

Another grunt, but Stiles manages to push his ass back minutely, and he’s pleased when Derek moans loudly. “Y’r knot is like a sed’tive.”

There’s a gust of air on the back of Stiles’s head when Derek huffs a laugh. “Sleep, Stiles.”

He’s out in two seconds flat.

* * *

Stiles wakes up to his stomach growling. The bed dips, and the warmth that was plastered to his back is gone. When he rolls over, Derek is climbing out of bed. Stiles’s eyes latch onto his mating bite, and he smiles. “Where are you going?”

“You’re hungry.” There’s a frown on Derek’s face, and Stiles knows that he’s beating himself up right now—that just won’t do.

“We fell asleep, Derek. It’s fine.” Besides, Stiles would gladly forego food for Derek’s knot any day. His stomach growls in protest.

As does Derek, who tosses him some clothes. “It’s not fine. Put this on.”

“Okay,” Stiles says quickly, pulling on the clothes. They hang loosely off his lanky frame, but he loves being wrapped in Derek’s scent. “So we’re not even gonna shower again?”

“You’re hungry. We’re going to get food,” Derek says in a no-nonsense voice.

There’s no point in continuing to try and convince Derek otherwise, not when his brows are furrowed in brooding consternation. Besides, it’s nice having someone care for him this much. He just wishes Derek wasn’t mad at himself. It’s not like Stiles isn’t capable of taking care of himself and getting food when he’s hungry.

As soon as they’re both dressed, they’re out the door.

Twenty minutes later, Stiles is stuffing his face with curly fries as Derek drives back to the loft after picking up food. He’d probably be done eating already, but he was mildly entranced by how Derek wolfed down his food. Yes, pun intended. “We could have just eaten at home, y’know.”

“This was faster.”

“I could have had a bowl of cereal, Derek. Or made myself some eggs,” Stiles says, pointing out the obvious. They pass the sheriff’s station, and he reaches out to slap Derek’s chest. It’s like an overwhelming need for the two most important people in his life to meet. “My dad! Derek, we need to go to my dad’s.”

Derek looks over, eyes wide, but Stiles just spouts off the directions to his childhood home as he eats.

By the time they pull up behind his dad’s cruiser, Stiles is wiping all the grease off his face from his burger. “You ready?”

“No?”

“Oh, sure. _Now_ you use inflection.” Stiles chuckles and bites his bottom lip before reaching over the console to squeeze Derek’s knee. He knows Derek is nervous about meeting his dad.

“Stiles.”

“Don’t worry. He doesn’t have wolfsbane bullets, so you’ll heal if he shoots you,” Stiles says with a wink.

Derek rolls his eyes but places a hand over Stiles’s. “We need to work on your humor.”

“Oh, that’s hilarious coming from you, Sourwolf.” Stiles huffs a laugh before nodding back towards the house. “Come on. He’s gonna love you.”

“He’s your _dad_. I’m pretty sure it’s in his DNA to hate whoever his son brings home.” Derek’s eyes snap to the house. When Stiles looks over, the front door is open, and his dad stands on the porch—looking at them curiously.

“Yeah, well, he’ll love you,” Stiles says confidently as he waves at his father.

“How do you know?”

Stiles looks back at Derek and smiles softly. “Because _I_ love you. Now come on.”

Derek takes a deep breath, gives Stiles’s hand one last squeeze, and unbuckles his seatbelt. Stiles scrambles in his seat, getting the burger wrapper and napkins back in the bag before opening the door and brushing crumbs off his shirt.

Stiles waits for Derek to come around to his side before walking alongside him to the house. When they climb the steps of the porch, Stiles smiles at his dad. “Hey, da—”

“Jesus, kid.” His dad’s eyes sweep over him, and Stiles is suddenly conscious of how loose Derek’s shirt is on him. It exposes his neck and collarbone, two areas that Derek spent a majority of the morning sucking on.

Stiles laughs nervously. “Yeah, about that… Derek and I have some news.”

His dad turns to face Derek, sending him a perfunctory glare that Stiles knows is just an intimidation tactic since he’s talked about Derek more than enough for his dad to know how amazing he is.

“Pretty sure I don’t have to be a rocket scientist to put it together, Stiles. Not when it looks like you lost a fight with a vacuum,” his dad says in his gruff, authoritative tone that makes Stiles chuckle nervously.

Stiles is surprised that he doesn’t comment on the bite mark, because there’s no way he doesn’t see it. Instead, his dad extends a hand to Derek. “Son.”

“Sheriff Stilinski. Sir.” Derek’s Adam's apple bobs. Stiles raises a brow at the slight wince on Derek’s face when he takes his dad’s hand.

“You all right?” Stiles whispers when his dad turns and gestures for them to go inside.

Derek rubs his hand and leans close. “Are you sure he doesn’t have wolfsbane bullets?”

“Those stay in a locked cabinet in my office,” his dad answers as he passes them, and they follow him to the kitchen. “You boys want anything to drink?”

“I’m okay. You want anything Der— Uh, dad? What is _that?_ ” Stiles waves an accusing finger at the open fridge. There’s a pizza box lying on the top shelf. “That had better be vegetarian.”

His dad lets out an aggrieved sigh, which Stiles recognizes from their many arguments over the food he eats. Ever since a physical a few years ago—when one of his dad’s blood tests showed high cholesterol—Stiles has taken extra care to ensure that his dad will be around for a very long time. He already lost one parent, and he wasn’t going to lose another.

When his dad closes the fridge, Stiles is leveled with a petulant glare. Stiles is just waiting for the crossed arms and foot-stomping before it turns into a full-on tantrum. Instead, what he gets is a clipped, “I am a grown man, Stiles. If I want meat lover’s, I will _have_ meat lover’s.”

Stiles places his palms on the kitchen island, leaning across it as he shoots his dad a threatening glare. It’s hard when Derek is watching, wearing an amused grin on his pretty face. “Don’t make me call Dr. Johnson.”

His dad pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs again. “You’re killing me, kiddo.”

“Better me than sausage and pepperoni,” Stiles says, raising a brow in challenge. He gets an unimpressed look for that.

“Just for that, I rescind my offer of beverage,” his dad says jokingly.

With no other option, Stiles sticks out his tongue. “You are a terrible host. No drinks and you didn’t even offer us food.”

“Pretty sure that was a fast-food bag I saw through the windshield.”

Stiles feigns offense. When Derek chuckles, he narrows his eyes and puts a finger over his lips. “You _shush_.”

“Stiles.” His dad shakes his head and tries to hide a smile. “There is a reason I’m the sheriff.”

“Thought it was your rugged good looks,” Stiles quips. It’s regular banter for them, and he could honestly go all day.

His dad snorts, and looks at Derek with a raised brow. “You sure about this? He’s a handful.”

This time Stiles slaps a hand on his chest and sputters, “How dare— I am a _joy!_ ” But neither his dad nor Derek are looking at him.

“Stiles is it for me, sir,” Derek vows, suddenly serious and insistent.

The tone in the room shifts from lighthearted and teasing to solemn. His dad’s smile softens as he looks between them. “I know. Didn’t even need to see the mating bite to tell.”

Stiles’s gaze snaps back to his dad; his brows scrunched and head tilted. “Wait. You know about mates and mating bites?”

“Sheriff,” his dad reminds him, pointing to himself.

Stiles rolls his eyes and sticks out his tongue before asking, “So how did you know? You said you didn’t even need to see it.” He brings a hand up and subconsciously rubs at the mark.

His dad clasps both of them on the shoulder, but shares a knowing look with Derek. “I could tell by the way you look at him.” Stiles swallows thickly. Is that really something that parents can tell, or is it a sheriff thing?

But then his dad is looking at him, and something nostalgic and wistful crosses over his eyes. “It’s how I’d look at your mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only one chapter left 😭😭😭😭😭 i'm not ready...
> 
> y'all are seriously gonna make me cry with all the love you have for this fic! i'm seriously overwhelmed and so grateful to you all 🥺


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> el fin

It’s the day of the full moon; their first together since becoming official—Facebook, Instagram, Twitter. Stiles made sure to update every social media site. Hell, he would have gotten one of those planes to fly a banner across the sky if he wasn’t so sure Derek would look at him like he was crazy. Okay, that’s a lie. A quick google search proved that the endeavor was far too expensive.

Stiles lies in Derek’s bed, wrapped in his arms with their legs tangled. It’s how he’s woken every morning for the past two weeks. Usually, he’d snuggle closer and fall back to sleep, but the excitement of the day isn’t letting him sleep anymore.

Stiles lets his eyes trail over Derek’s body. As always, his heart swells when they pass over his bite on Derek’s neck. It’s still overwhelming having this connection to another person. His fingers graze over the bite mark with a feather-like touch before he runs his hands further down Derek’s body.

Stiles licks his lips as his gaze passes over the outline of Derek’s erection through the sheet. His hole clenches automatically, and his mouth waters as he imagines Derek’s dick in his mouth. But why imagine it when he can make it a reality?

Stiles gets a wicked grin on his face as he crawls down the bed to slot himself perfectly into the V of Derek’s legs. He slips the sheet off Derek’s waist like he’s unwrapping a present and is pleased when Derek’s dick bobs in the air.

_Yay!_

Before he dives in though, Stiles takes a moment to appreciate a fully naked Derek. Derek’s wide, muscular chest is on full display, and his nipples are hard and look suckable. But Stiles won’t let the way his hole slicks or his dick jumps detract from his goal of getting Derek’s dick in his mouth.

There’s no reaction as he strokes Derek’s dick a couple of times, but when he wraps his lips around the tip, Derek gasps softly. Stiles smiles before he sucks lightly, swirling his tongue and slowly slipping down to the thicket of dark curls at the base, licking every inch. He swallows around the head of Derek’s dick, eyes rolling closed in ecstasy, and moans at the weight of Derek on his tongue.

Derek mumbles a curse, quickly waking up as Stiles bobs his head and takes him all the way to the back of his throat.

“Jesus, fuck. _Stiles_.” It’s hard not to love the way his name is purred, and while Stiles loves having Derek in his mouth, what really gets him going is looking up and seeing Derek staring at him. Like he’s a fantasy.

Derek’s legs part even more, and Stiles looks up at the sound of the headboard creaking under Derek's grip. Stiles pops off, running his hands up Derek's abs and chest, to lightly trail over the long expanse of Derek's neck as his head is thrown back.

“God, I love sucking your dick,” he says hoarsely before sucking Derek down again. It’s not long before Derek fingers card through his hair, tugging lightly to warn that he’s close.

Stiles sprawls out on the mattress, rutting relentlessly as he chases his own release.

Derek’s hips stutter, and he grunts, filling Stiles’s mouth with cum. “So good. So good for me, Stiles,” he says, petting Stiles’s head.

Stiles pulls off and swallows, letting out a quiet groan as he licks his lips. He’s addicted to the taste of Derek, and it sets off his own toe-curling orgasm, making him pant into Derek’s groin. It’s only a second later that he’s hauled up against Derek’s chest. He’s breathless as Derek kisses him feverishly.

As much as Stiles would like to lie in bed and continue to make out, they need to get up. With a groan, he sits up and stretches. “All right. Time for a shower.”

“You go shower,” Derek says, swatting Stiles’s butt as they climb out of bed.

“Uh, Derek?” Stiles stops when Derek heads away from him and towards the kitchen, raising a brow. “Are we not showering together?”

“No,” Derek states, matter-of-factly, while he roots through the cabinets.

Stiles scoffs. Derek expects him to shower _alone_? “But—” _We always shower together_ , is what Stiles wants to say, except Derek cuts him off.

“We’ll end up having sex, and I _will_ knot you. And we’re already running late.”

Stiles crosses his arms and purses his lips even though everything Derek is saying is fair and valid. But how can he be expected to hold himself back when Derek is a walking wet dream?

Still, Stiles needs to put up some form of protest. “We’re not running late, Derek. It’s only 10:30.”

Derek points to the calendar on the fridge, drawing Stiles’s eyes to today’s date circled in red with full moon written in all caps. “I have to get dinner prepped since we’ll be out all day.”

“Can’t we just order pizza?” Stiles asks. “It’s just one night. We can—”

“We’re not ordering pizza.” Derek’s left brow rises to amazing heights. Stiles is impressed. It’s the most ‘ _the fuck are you talking about_ ’ expression that Derek has ever given him. “I always cook.”

Stiles throws his arms out because— “Yeah, exa—”

“Stiles. You know how I feel about this.”

That’s the reason Stiles finally shuts up. He knows Derek has an extreme need to provide for the pack, which now includes him, so he relents.

By the time Stiles gets out of the shower, Derek already has beef stew in the crockpot and a casserole dish on the stove. He walks over with his towel around his waist and hugs Derek from behind. “What’s in there?”

“Mac ‘n cheese.” Derek turns his head, and Stiles happily accepts the kiss to the tip of his nose. “It’s got to cool off for a bit before I can put it in the fridge. But then all we’ll have to do when we get home is toss it in the oven to heat up.”

“Okay. It’s your turn now,” Stiles says as he spins them, pushing Derek towards the bathroom, and swatting his ass. Derek growls playfully, but Stiles pushes him again. “Go.”

Once the bathroom door is closed, Stiles dresses quickly. Since Derek cooked, and it’s the first full moon he’s helping host, Stiles figures he should make something. The cookies were a hit last time, but he’d rather make something new for them to try. After scrolling through his phone for 30 seconds, he settles on a berry crumble. It’s something he can prepare now and pop in the oven after the mac ‘n cheese is done.

Stiles gets so lost in getting the pie ready that time becomes obsolete. All too soon, the bathroom door opens, and his jaw drops when Derek steps out, chest glistening like he’s a Greek god.

Derek’s nostrils flare and he smirks, turning his head in Stiles’s direction. “You got a little drool there, Stiles.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he says without heat. He wipes his hands on his apron and puts both the pie and the mac ‘n cheese in the refrigerator before giving Derek all his attention. “You, uh, you sure we can’t sneak in a round of sex?”

Instead of answering, Derek points at the clock on the wall.

_Shit_. It’s almost noon. Where the hell did the time go?

“ _Fine_ ,” he says, petulantly. “But you need to hurry up and put clothes on. I can’t be held liable for my actions if you’re naked much longer.”

Derek huffs a laugh. While he’s dressing, Stiles puts his shoes on and pats down his pockets for his keys, wallet, and phone.

Stiles leans back when Derek’s hands settle on his waist.

“Ready?” Derek asks.

“Yeah.”

Derek does a quick check on the stew, and then they head out to meet his dad for lunch. It’s become a weekly thing since they got together, and Stiles can’t help but smile at how well his dad and Derek get along. They eat some roast chicken and watch baseball until it’s time for his dad to leave for work. Since it’s almost 3 o’clock, they go straight to Stiles’s apartment to pack his things. Yes, that’s right, Stiles is moving in with Derek. There’s no point in having the space when he spends all his time at Derek’s loft.

The pack, along with Scott and Allison, come over to help. With so many people, a majority of them being super strong werewolves, it takes almost no time at all to get everything loaded into the moving truck. It probably also helps that Stiles doesn’t have much to begin with anyway, and a few items—Stiles’s mattress and couch—get tossed to the curb since they’re old and not needed.

Scott and Allison end up leaving as soon as everything is unloaded at the loft—to go to dinner with Allison’s parents—but promise to join them for the next full moon. Derek checks the food and gets the mac ‘n cheese in the oven as soon as Boyd and Erica leave to return the truck, leaving Isaac and Stiles to start unpacking.

With no big furniture, Stiles’s things fit easily downstairs. His collection of Star Wars funko pops are a perfect addition to Derek’s bookshelves that house their large collection of DVDs. Derek got actual frames to hang Stiles’s favorite posters around the living room, and even Stiles’s treasured side table finds a new home next to the armchair.

Everything fits so seamlessly like it’s always been there.

By the time Boyd and Erica return, they’re done and starved, so it’s perfect timing that the oven beeps. Derek pulls out the mac ‘n cheese. The crispy, bubbly crust is drool-worthy. With the oven still hot, Stiles pops in the berry crumble, and they sit down.

Everyone is far too hungry to do anything but eat, and they get all the way to dessert before anyone speaks.

“So, Stiles,” Erica starts, and Stiles is already suspicious of the look she’s shooting Derek. “Did I ever tell you about the last time I got drunk?”

“Uh, no?” Stiles asks.

Derek tries to slap a hand over her mouth, but Erica is faster. “Yeah. Actually, this goes for pretty much every single time that Isaac or I have gotten drunk.”

“Yeah. Derek absolutely _loves_ —”

“ _Erica._ ” Derek wears a scowl, clearly not liking the direction of this conversation. Stiles can’t help but laugh. He loves the way Derek lets down his guard around the pack—loves how Derek accepts the teasing.

“Fine,” Erica says with a toothy grin. “He hates taking care of us when we’re drunk.”

“Because you and Isaac don’t know your limits yet. You get sick everywhere, and then I can’t get the smell out of the loft for days.”

Isaac pushes back from the table, taking his plate to the sink. “I would just like to point out that it only happened once.”

“Yeah. One time too many,” Derek says with exasperation.

“If Boyd is here, he makes him take us home.” Erica leans into Boyd’s side and places a kiss on his jaw. “Isn’t that right, baby?”

Boyd cracks a rare grin and nods. “And if I’m not here, then I usually get a phone call to pick you up.”

“It could be three o’clock in the morning. I’m still calling Boyd.” Derek ends the conversation by hauling Stiles up and tossing him over his shoulder. Stiles _yelps_ in protest but can’t complain too much considering the lovely view of Derek’s ass. “It’s getting late. We should head to the preserve.”

Erica and Boyd clear the table and join Isaac in the kitchen, already cleaning up.

“Guys, just leave it. We can get it later,” Stiles says after Derek puts him down. His shoes are sitting at the foot of the bed, so he quickly puts them on while Derek gets into some loose sweats.

“Yeah… I don’t think so,” Isaac calls out from the kitchen.

Stiles shoots him a confused look, and Erica snorts. “No offense, Bambi, but none of us want to be subjected to a night with you guys now that your heads are out of your asses.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you guys will want to boink all over the loft now that you’re officially moved in. It’s probably going to be worse than your heat.”

Stiles blushes at the implication but doesn't deny it.

All too soon, they are back in the preserve, and Stiles doesn’t bother averting his gaze when Derek strips—not just because Derek is incredibly hot. Watching Derek shift is magical.

Stiles is mesmerized as the air ripples around Derek—his smooth, tanned skin shedding away until a big, black wolf stares back at him. He drops to his knees and smiles softly before rubbing his cheek against Derek’s.

“Remember. We don’t make out in wolf form,” he whispers. Derek’s grin is recognizable in any form, so it’s unsurprising when a wet tongue licks across his cheek. “I hate you.”

Derek’s huff is a clear ‘ _No, you don’t._ ’ When he flops to his side, Stiles smiles and scratches at his belly—the significance of the gesture is no longer lost on him. Derek trusts him implicitly.

After a few minutes, Derek sits back on his haunches, and Stiles stands, brushing the dirt off his pants. “All right. Get out of here, you guys.”

Before they run off, Boyd gives him the same spiel from the first full moon, about how they’ll be close by. And just like last time, Derek seems to hesitate, but finally relents when Stiles nudges him to the treeline.

“Go on. I’m sure you’ll be able to find me easily wherever you run off to.”

Derek chuffs and gives Stiles one last look before throwing his head back and howling. It shakes Stiles to his very core, making him rub subconsciously over his mating bite as he feels the pull to his alpha.

The forest fills with the answering calls of the betas.

Stiles watches Derek sprint away, and once he’s out of sight, starts wandering for a bit. It’s hard not to be enchanted by the moonlight streaming through the trees, with the shadows of the leaves and branches dancing on the ground.

The sounds of the pack running and laughing echo through the trees, and he can’t help but smile. It gets wider when a shadow looms in the distance. His bond thrums with energy, and he instinctively knows it’s Derek.

“You are ridiculous,” he says when another huge buck is laid at his feet.

Stiles readily accepts it even though their freezer—and yeah, Stiles’s heart does a flip at calling it theirs—is still stuffed with venison from the first buck Derek brought him.

God, how fucking clueless was he?

The thought makes him laugh though he’s not entirely to blame, Derek could have spoken up at any time. Although, looking at it from Derek’s perspective—the different ways that Stiles had unknowingly accepted Derek’s courtship—Stiles can see how Derek also misunderstood.

Derek stays curled around Stiles after that, not that Stiles is complaining since it’s a little chilly and Derek is practically a furnace in this form. They sit there for another hour while the pack runs.

Before they head home, Stiles makes sure that none of the pack wants to stay. They are emphatic with their assurance that they do not want to be subjected to anymore unresolved sexual tension, even though Stiles assures them that it’s been completely resolved—in every room and every position known to man.

Derek shifts back, shakes his head, and throws Stiles over his shoulder again. He smiles happily.

Once they’re home, it’s hard to keep their hands off of each other; though, Derek insists on a shower first. Stiles practically sprints to the bathroom and gets the shower ready because he’s slick, horny, and wants to ride Derek’s knot. He offers no hesitation at pulling Derek out of the shower as soon as they’re clean, puts up a mild protest when Derek takes the time to dry them, and then shoves Derek back on the bed once they’re out of the bathroom.

* * *

For all intents and purposes, Stiles should be exhausted by now. It’s been a relatively long day with a lot of physical activity, but maybe that’s why he can’t sleep because he’s still too wired from moving and the pack run. It doesn’t help that he keeps thinking about how stupid he was for constantly worrying about Derek’s mate when it was him all along. It makes him laugh again.

Derek grunts and tips his head to look down at Stiles. “What’s going on?”

Stiles sighs as Derek’s hands start running up and down his back. “Just thinking about us and how stupid I was.” Derek clears his throat and raises a brow. Stiles knows that Derek is equally ashamed of how idiotic they were, so he corrects himself. “ _We_ were. It’s just—we could have had this the entire time.”

That earns another grunt from Derek, who flips them until Stiles is pressed into the mattress. Derek kisses him deeply before pulling away to kiss down the side of his neck. “Thought we agreed not to talk about it.”

“Inflection, Derek,” Stiles says breathlessly. He thinks about baseball, makes a grocery list, and mentally recites the periodic table as he wills his body not to respond when Derek sucks on his earlobe. “It’s ju— _hnnng!_ —just funny. If you hadn’t told m-me to stop googling, I probably would have f-figured it out.”

Derek pulls away to stare down at Stiles. His lips are red and swollen, and his hair is in disarray, but his expression is serious. “What did I tell you, Stiles. You can’t trust Google.”

“I know,” Stiles says quickly. All he wants is Derek’s weight back on him, so he reaches up and rakes a hand through Derek’s hair to pull him closer. His breath hitches when Derek leans forward, as if to kiss him, but stops. Stiles’s heart is pounding in his chest. He licks his lips and looks up at Derek. “ _Please_.”

Derek cups Stiles’s face as he falls to his elbows and gives him a gentle kiss. “I love you,” he whispers softly before finally giving in and devouring him.

Stiles moans into the heated kiss and hooks a leg around Derek’s waist, digging his heel into Derek’s ass. When Derek bites at his jaw, Stiles tips his head back in submission and whimpers. But it’s not enough.

“ _Wait wait wait_ ,” Stiles says as he pushes Derek to the side. Derek falls easily, and Stiles smiles as he climbs over top, draping himself over Derek’s body. He rolls his hips so their erections drag against each other, giving him that sweet, delicious friction that makes him tremble.

As they kiss, he lightly runs his fingers along Derek’s neck, writhing when Derek runs a hand down his back. He’s already leaking slick, and Derek pushes two fingers in, deep, until they’re brushing over his prostate.

“Oh, fu—” But Derek swallows his moans with a very passionate sweep of his tongue until Stiles pulls away, gasping for air.

Derek fists a hand in Stiles’s hair, tugging his head back to latch onto his throat. Fucking unfair because Derek knows how sensitive his neck is. Stiles bites his bottom lip and clutches at Derek as he continues grinding desperately against Derek’s dick and abs.

Beads of sweat drip down Stiles’s back, and his whole body quakes as Derek’s teeth nip at his skin. Stiles pushes up, splaying his hands on Derek’s chest as he rides Derek’s fingers, and when Derek adds a third, he cries out.

Derek’s free hand trails over Stiles’s chest, tweaking each nipple before continuing down. Stiles’s moans fill the loft, mixing with curses as Derek wraps a hand around their erections to jerk them off with a calloused hand.

_Fuck!_

Stiles’s lips part and hips stutter as he fucks into Derek’s fist before rocking back onto Derek’s fingers. Derek grunts and tightens his fist while he adds another finger.

Surprisingly, Stiles is not the one who snaps first. But he also knows how much Derek gets off on _him_ getting off.

“ _Stiles_.” Derek’s back arches off the bed as he practically growls Stiles’s name. His body goes taut, and his curses fill the loft. A tendon stands out on the side of Derek’s neck. Stiles wants to nibble on it because— _fucking hell!_ —Derek looks so good when he cums. There’s something about the way his eyes roll to the back of his head before he sets a hard glare at the ceiling like it’s personally offended him, that really turns Stiles on.

Stiles watches Derek’s dick pulse as he keeps thrusting, digging his fingers into Derek’s shoulders, chasing his own release.

“Come on, Stiles,” Derek urges. “Let me see you cum.”

The order sends shockwaves through him. Stiles jerks forward, cumming into Derek's fist. He throws his head back and cries out in pleasure before collapsing on Derek’s chest. Words are lost to him, and all he can do is hum his approval of a great orgasm as his nerve endings tingle and his body twitches.

They’re going to be a mess when they wake, but Stiles can’t bring himself to move. And since Derek would gladly walk around smelling like them and sex, he knows Derek doesn’t care.

“G’nna sl’p,” he mumbles into the crook of Derek’s neck; his eyes are already closed.

Derek nuzzles his cheek and presses kisses to wherever he can reach. “Sleep, Stiles. I’ve got you.”

“ _Mmm…_ ” Stiles smiles sleepily as Derek’s arms tighten around him.

* * *

Stiles wakes to Derek’s phone ringing. He yawns and squints at the phone screen when it lights up. “ _Wha…?_ Who’s it?”

“Not sure. Don’t recognize the number, but I got it. Just rest,” Derek whispers, scratching lightly at the nape of Stiles’s neck to soothe him before answering the call. His voice is low and gruff—a stark contrast to the sweet, loving way he had just murmured to Stiles. “Hello.”

There’s nothing for a second, and Stiles closes his eyes, sighing against the rhythmic rise and fall of Derek’s chest. He’s almost back asleep, relaxing easily as Derek rubs his back, but he blinks one eye open when Derek mutters, “Christ,” under his breath.

“‘S going on?” he asks, a little more alert now. Derek doesn’t answer, choosing to hand the phone over instead. Stiles takes it, looking at the screen in confusion until Derek gestures for him to listen.

There’s heavy breathing over the line, and Stiles’s eyes widen at the familiar _thwap thwap thwap_ of someone jerking off. “ _What the fuck?_ Who the fuck is this?”

“It said to call. For a good time.” There’s a pitiful whine over the line, and Stiles scoffs.

“Yeah, well, you called the wrong number, buddy!” Stiles yells into the line before ending the call. He looks over at Derek in complete disbelief—especially when the phone rings _again_. Stiles answers automatically. “ _What?_ ”

“What are you wearing?”

“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.” He hangs up again and looks at Derek pointedly. “Have you gotten other calls like this?”

Derek snorts and raises a brow as he sits up. “Well, yeah, as a matter of fact, there was this one time...”

Stiles narrows his eyes at the reminder of the way they met and jabs a finger into Derek’s chest. “I’m being serious.”

“No, Stiles. Since you,” Stiles sticks his tongue out at Derek, “this has been the only phone call like that.” Derek tilts his head like he’s searching his memory. “Though, now that I think about it, Erica did ask me if I’ve gotten any weird calls lately. Seemed disappointed when I said no.”

The cogs turn, and it’s like a lightbulb goes off in Stiles’s head. “Fucking Erica!”

Derek seems to think the same and shakes his head. “She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t do that.” But Stiles gives him a look that says ‘ _really?_ ’Derek sighs heavily. “She would.”

The phone rings again, the same number, and Stiles growls. “All right. I guess it’s time to finally show you how to block numbers.”

“I know how to block numbers, Stiles,” Derek says with a small smirk.

Stiles raises a brow. “You said you didn’t know how.”

Derek shrugs and grabs his phone, showing Stiles that he does in fact know how to block phone numbers.

“Then why didn’t you block mine?” Stiles asks, genuinely curious.

Derek sets the phone back on the nightstand and pulls Stiles back against him before he answers. “I don’t know. I guess I was hoping you’d call back.”

Stiles scrunches his face in confusion. “But you were all growly when I did.”

“I can’t explain it. I’ve met plenty of omegas throughout my life, but none of them have ever affected me like you did. You whined—your omega cried out for me—and my wolf... _reacted_. I...” Derek sighs and runs a hand through his hair before continuing. “I partially shifted and clawed holes into my favorite pillow,” Derek scoffs like he still can’t believe it happened. “It freaked me out—I panicked and hung up before I got stupid and tried to find you. Besides, just because I was hoping you’d call back, doesn’t mean I actually expected you to. It caught me off guard and, as you know by now, I’m pretty terrible with words.”

Stiles blankets himself over Derek’s chest again. “You’re always good with me.”

“You make it easy. You can read me. I barely have to talk, and you know what I’m saying. You _know_ me, Stiles,” Derek says, running his hands over Stiles’s back.

Stiles smiles softly and pushes up to give Derek a gentle kiss. “‘Cause I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours.”

“Damn right you are. And I’m calling Erica right now to tell her she needs to go scratch your number off whatever wall she put it on!”

“Calm down, little omega.” Derek does the rumble-purr that Stiles loves so much. Though Stiles is sure that Derek loves when he gets possessive of him. “We can yell at her in the morning.”

Stiles would put up more of a fight, but the vibrations from Derek’s body relax him, and he sighs in contentment. “Mmkay. Love you, Derek.”

“And I love _you_ , Stiles,” Derek breathes against his temple, and Stiles closes his eyes, feeling warm in Derek’s arms—knowing it’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

**Author's Note:**

> art by JD Gray - [Twitter](https://twitter.com/JDGray19)/[Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/jdgray_rw19/)
> 
> i seriously can't believe this is over, and am far too overwhelmed to try and express how much this fic means to me, as well as all the love you guys have given it. thank you all so much 🥺 i'm gonna go now 'cause i'm seriously tearing up at posting this ✌
> 
> rebloggable on [tumblr](https://evanesdust.tumblr.com/post/635172473361612800/for-a-good-time-call-masterlist)
> 
> kudos and comments give me life <3  
> no like seriously, i’m addicted to them
> 
> i’ve got a [tumblr](http://evanesdust.tumblr.com/)


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